He dismounted before the courthouse and entered the building, whose corridor and chambers appeared as silent, as lifeless, as forsaken as the street itself.

Coming into the Recorder's office, he halted for a look about, then pushed through the wicket of the counter and stepped into an inner room, where he stirred by a thumb in the ribs a thin, dusky-skinned youth reclining in a swivel chair with feet in repose on a window-sill, who slept with head fallen back, arms hanging, and mouth open.
"Come, _amigo_, your dinner's settled by this time," the engineer stated.

"Grab a pen and record this deed." The clerk sleepily shifted his feet into a more comfortable position.
"We're behind in our work," said he.

"Just leave your deed, and the fee, and we'll get around to it in a few days." "So you're too busy now, eh ?" "Yes.

We've had a good many papers to record this month." "Where's the Recorder ?" "Not back from dinner yet," was the answer.
The speaker once again prepared to rest.