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As she shot up the elevator, she thought of a hitherto forgotten element of that afternoon's bewildering situation. Barney Palmer! And Barney was, she knew, now up in her sitting-room, impatiently waiting for her report of what he had good reason to believe would prove a successful experience.
She was not unconscious of the suppressed excitement in his manner nor of the elevator boy's relief as he joyfully greeted her appearance in his car. What did it matter? What did anything matter now? Her day was over. Miss Manuel, already informed of her arrival by a hurried telephone message from the office, was waiting for her at the door of their apartment.
"It's overrated," Joe said. And then, "It's not as if we haven't been there." Disappointment hovered. "How about a back rub?" She read his eyes for a moment and said, "That would be nice." "Oh, good." They entered the elevator relieved to be still together. He took off his shoes in her room and lay down on the bed. Daisy slid next to him and turned on her side.
I asked a man in a blue frock-coat if the Corydon had come in. "'Aye, says he. 'Here she is, just abaft of ye, and he pointed to a rusty, dirty old tub with a battered funnel and a bridge all blocked with hatches. That the beautiful shiny Corydon? There was the name on her stern Corydon, London. She was loading coal from a big elevator.
"Well," he declared jubilantly in his boyish voice, "either I eat my hat or that's a genuine, bona fide city!" As swiftly as an elevator drops, and as safely, the cube shot straight downward. Every second the landscape narrowed and shrunk, leaving the remaining details larger, clearer, sharper. Bit by bit the amazing thing below them resolved itself into a real metropolis.
My man always left his office at three-forty-five and that I would have to come again. "We went down in the elevator together, the boy winking all the way down at me and that's all, Joan, except that you've got to go careful with Mr. Kenneth Raymond.
Would it not be possible for him to go, too, as secretary to the senator? . . . Don Marcelo smiled benevolently. The authorization was only for Lacour and one companion. He was the one who was going to pose as secretary, valet or utility man to his future relative-in-law. At the end of the afternoon, he left the studio, accompanied to the elevator by the lamentations of Argensola.
I thought you would like to know." "Embarrassment? Humph! a man?" "No, a woman; a lady, sir; one of the transients. I found out in a jiffy all they could tell me about her." "A woman! We didn't expect that. Where is she? Still in the lobby?" "No, sir. She took the elevator while I was talking with the clerk." "There's nothing in it. You mistook her expression." "I don't think so.
As they came down the elevator, men in buttons met them, and attended them to the door, and turned them over to still other uniformed attendants, who were fain to help them into the auto-car; for Lucius had managed to convey to the hotel a proper sense of his employer's money value.
Whitney's expression was not lost upon Miller, who, finding him a more interesting study than Mitchell, watched him intently while appearing to be deeply engaged in examining an elevator model. "Isn't this the design copied in building your elevator, Mr. Whitney?" he asked. "Yes; that is the model I made when the elevator was built.
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