The end of the wet platform flashed into view. There were dazzling lights, rumbling hand-trucks, and people running about.
As she came to the door of the car—she did not go out by the one chosen by the Senator’s daughter and her friends—the roar of voices burst upon her ear:
“Clinton Hotel! This way!”
“Pinewood Hall! This is the ’bus for the school! Pinewood Hall!”
“Carriage, Miss! Private carriage, Miss!”
“Pinewood Hall! Pinewood Hall!”
“Clinton House! Come on, here, you that want the hotel.”
“’Bus for Pinewood. That you, Miss Briggs? Going with me? Where’s yer check?”
“This way for the school. Pinewood Hall! Hi, there, Jim! Found that other one? Miss Nelson! Miss Nelson! Who’s seen Miss Nelson?”
Suddenly Nancy realized that the big man in front of her was roaring her name in stentorian tones.