The stranger grinned.
"Say, you're from Jersey, ain't you? That's no fight. They're curb brokers trying to unload on each other their mining stocks."
Armitage felt foolish. To hide his confusion he asked:
"Can you direct me to the offices of Coxe and Willoughby, the attorneys? I'm a stranger here."
The man pointed a little farther up the street.
"See that tall building on the left? That's it."
Thanking his informant Armitage hurried on, and, going up the stone steps of No. 27, passed through a revolving door kept whirling by an endless procession of brokers, clerks and messenger-boys who hurried in and out. Following a long corridor, he came to a large open space completely lined with elevators. Some were expresses which made no stop below the 25th floor; the rest were locals stopping at each story, on request.
"Coxe and Willoughby?" he said interrogatively to the uniformed starter.
"Twenty-seventh floor. Take the express," was the quick reply.
Armitage entered the waiting car. Other persons followed him in, and it was comfortably filled when the starter cried sharply: