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Only they was short-circuited somewhere. And it seemed like a blamed shame. Half an hour more and I'd located Mr. Robert at his club. He ain't very enthusiastic, either, when one of the doormen tows me into the corner of the loungin' room where he's sittin' behind a tall glass gazin' moody at nothin' in particular. "I suppose you told her all about it!" says he. "And then a few," says I.
These were the simpler folk of the official world with which circumstance housed him for eight hours daily, bootblacks, elevator-boys, porters, doormen. For to the big, clean, wholesome personality which appeals irresistibly to these humbler people, Barclay added an astonishing memory for faces, and for the names and circumstances connected with them.
Let me introduce old Canyon Bill, formerly known as Jonas!" Charley clasped Jonas' hand, burst out laughing, and slapped him on the back. "Some story goes with that outfit, eh, Jonas, old boy! Say! if you let the rest of the doormen and messengers see you, there won't be a stroke of work done for the rest of the day."
But he volunteered no explanations and in fact had little to say on the subject. "That was natural. He should be the first to see that the bow which shot the arrow must of necessity have been brought into the building by some other door than those at which the doormen stood guard.
After the divorce there were these same dreams but with him pulverized into dust; and they were mixed with those of finding herself naked in Isetan Department Store Japanese clerks, doormen, and beautiful bowing welcome-ladies all staring at her in consternation until an Ikebana instructor in the flower shop threw a blanket over her that was woven in American dandelions.
The street was full of coaches. Pompous doormen in immense coats, shiny brass belts and buttons, waited in front of expensive salesrooms. Coachmen in tan boots, white tights, and blue jackets waited obsequiously for the mistresses of carriages who were shopping inside. The whole street bore the flavour of riches and show, and Carrie felt that she was not of it.
He tumbled in his pockets. Curse the luck! He'd given every cent of his afternoon earnings to doormen and pages and coat-room girls! His pace slackened again as he turned down Broadway. His feet were dragging as he reached the Concorde moving-picture theater. His hand, sunk deep in his torn pocket, touched something. It was a tiny piece of soap.
During the day, half a score of threatening letters came to his office. But what hurt him most, though he almost smiled at his own sensitiveness, was that the doormen and porters at the Capitol greeted his morning nod with a stare, and even the little office-boy, bending low over his table in the ante-room, did not look up for the customary wink.
Robinson! Mr. Brown! Mr. Robinson!" The monotonous, shrill voices of the pages as they wearily made their rounds calling out the names of invisible guests, the orders of clerks and doormen, the chattering and laughing of the people as they passed and re-passed up and down the corridors made a perfect babel of conflicting sound. The afternoon was now well advanced. The crowds had begun to dispense.
They were taken as easily as a one-eyed, one-eared man, with a wooden leg and red hair would be in trying to get out of police headquarters when the doormen had his Bertillon photograph and measurements to go by. That battery hidden from aerial observation in the thick forest kept up its slow firing at intervals. It was "bothering" one of the German trenches.
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