“No,” said Ford.  “It hasn’t got that far along yet.”

Eckstein looked at his watch.

“Don’t let me keep you, if there is anything else you want to do, Mr. Ford; but I’ll confess you’ve aroused my curiosity.  What is the matter with the MacMorroghs?”

Ford answered the question by asking another.

“Do you know them, Mr. Eckstein?”

“Why—­yes; as Mr. North’s chief clerk would be likely to know the firm of contractors which has been given a good share of the Pacific Southwestern work for a number of years.”

“Do you know any good of them?”

“Bless me! yes:  I don’t know anything else of them.  Three hearty, bluff, rough-tongued Irishmen; lacking diplomacy and all the finer touches, if you like, but good fellows and hustlers of the keenest.”

Ford fastened his companion in a steady eye-grip.  “One question, Mr. Eckstein; do they play fair with all concerned?”

“They are more than fair; they are generous—­with the company, and with the company’s representatives with whom they have to do business.  On two contracts with us they have lost money; but I happen to know that in both instances they kept their promises to the engineering department to the letter.”

Ford had cast off the eye-grip and he appeared to be studying the fresco design of the ceiling over the private secretary’s head.

“And those promises were—?”

Eckstein laughed boyishly.  “You needn’t make a mystery of it with me, Mr. Ford.  I’m one of the family, if I haven’t any initials after my name.  I know—­we all know—­that there are certain profits—­not made out of the company, of course—­that a contractor is always willing to share with his good friends, the engineers.”

Ford’s attitude instantly became that of a freshman wishing to learn the ropes.

“Consider me, Mr. Eckstein,” he said.  “I’m new to the construction business—­or at least, I’ve never been at the head of it before.  What are these—­er—­perquisites?”

The private secretary thought he had entered the thin edge of the wedge and he drove it heartily.

“They are perfectly legitimate, of course.  The contractors run a commissary to supply the workmen—­nobody suspects them of doing it at cost.  Then there are the fines imposed to secure faithful work, the per capita commission paid on the labor sent in by the engineers, the discounts on time-checks, the weekly hospital and insurance dues collected from the men.  All those things amount to a good round profit on a contract like ours.”

“To about how much, in figures, should you say?” queried Ford, with an air of the deepest interest.

“To enough to make your share, as head of the construction department, touch ten thousand a year, on a job as big as ours—­with a liberal provision for Mr. Frisbie, besides.”

Ford blew reflective smoke rings toward the ceiling for a full minute or more before he said quietly:  “Do I understand that you are authorized to guarantee me ten thousand a year in commissions from the MacMorrogh Brothers, Mr. Eckstein?”