David Brunger in the office chair would tell a client in the armchair.
"For _myself_--" and he would waggle his head towards the side walls
with an air that seemed to imply prodigal luxury in the fittings of
"(Clerks)" and "(Office)."
Entering the room Mr. Brunger unlocked the roll-top desk; discovered
the stump of a half-smoked cigarette; lit it and began to compare the
day's racing selections of "Head Lad," who imparted stable secrets to
one tipster's organ, with those of "Trainer," who from the knowledge
of his position very kindly gave one horse snips to another.
At ten o'clock the large staff of trained detectives (male and
female), mentioned in Mr. Brunger's advertisements, came pouring up
the stairs, knocked at the door and filed into the room. Its name was
Issy Jago, a Jewish young gentleman aged seventeen, whose appearance
testified in the highest manner to the considerable thrift he
exercised in the matter of hair-dressers and toilet soap.
Mr. Issy Jago sat himself on the wooden-seated chair before the small
deal table; got to work upon his finger-nails with the corner of an
omnibus ticket; proceeded to study the police court reports in the
_Daily Telegraph_.
It was his duty, whenever he noted plaintiffs or defendants to whom
Mr. David Brunger's services might be of benefit, to post to them Mr.
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