He had been long enough in the insurance business to realize the estimate that average clients had of an insurance broker—­they looked upon him as a struggling friend or a poor relation or an agreeable, persuasive grafter, whose only work consisted in talking them into indifferent acceptance of an insurance policy and then pestering them into a reluctant payment of the premium.  Of course big business firms recognized a broker’s expertness or lack of it, though, quite frequently, as in Hilmer’s case, they were more snared by a share in the profits than by the claims of efficiency.  But Starratt wanted to succeed merely on his merit.  He wanted to teach people to say of him: 

“I go to Fred Starratt because he’s the keenest, the most reliable man in the field.  And for no other reason.”

In short, he wished to earn his commission, and not to share it.  He wanted to prove to people that an insurance broker was neither a barbered mendicant nor a genial incompetent.  Had he known that a conviction of his ability lay at the bottom of Hilmer’s sudden change in business tactics he would have been content.  As it was, in spite of the impetus this sudden push gave his career he had moments when he would have felt happier without such dubious patronage.  As a matter of fact, Hilmer rather ignored him.  He brought in his business usually during Fred’s absence from the office, and Helen, under his guidance, had everything ready before her husband had time to suggest any line of action.  Forms, apportionments, applications—­there did not seem to be a detail that Hilmer had overlooked or Helen had failed to execute.  Starratt tried not to appear irritated.  He didn’t like to admit even to himself that he could be small enough to resent his wife’s curious efficiency.  But he wished she weren’t there.  One day he said to her, as inconsequentially as he could: 

“I really think, my dear, that I ought to be planning to get a woman here in your place...  Now that Hilmer’s business is reasonably assured, I can afford it...  It’s too much to ask of you—­keeping up your house and doing this, too.”

“Well,” she shrugged, “we can board if it gets too much for me.”

“You know I detest boarding.”

“I can hire help, then.  Mrs. Finn would come in by the day.  But, as a matter of fact, this isn’t any more strenuous than my year of the Red Cross work.  I managed then; I guess I can manage now.”

“But I thought you didn’t like business life.”

“I’m not crazy about it ... but I want to get you started right.  Suppose you got a girl in here who didn’t know how to manage Hilmer?”

He checked the retort that rose to his lips...  He couldn’t help getting the nasty inferences that people on the street threw at him unconsciously or maliciously, but he could help voicing them or admitting them even to himself.

“Is ... is Hilmer so hard to manage?” he found himself inquiring.