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Updated: May 5, 2025
It seemed to her just then as though it would never be possible for her to eat luncheon at Arrandale's, wherever that might be. Scorch caught up his cap and hustled her out of the gate, and out of the main office door, and whistled shrilly to an elevator that was just shooting down. "Come on, Nancy!" he said, with immense patronage. "We'll have a swell dinner and it takes time to do it.
The door opened and the red-headed boy looked in. "Pay for 'Scorch's' luncheon, too." "Ye-es, sir," said Nancy, faintly. "Scorch!" commanded Mr. Gordon. "Yessir!" snapped the office boy. "It's about your lunch hour?" "Yessir!" "Take take Miss Nancy Nelson to Arrandale's. Afterward take her to the station and put her aboard the right train for Clintondale. Understand?" "Yessir!" Mr.
But Nancy was no baby-girl; by the time the elevator reached the lower floor of the building she had winked back her tears and the ache had gone out of her throat. "This way, Nancy," said her conductor, cheerfully rushing her through the revolving door to the sidewalk. "There's Arrandale's over yonder.
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