“Here’s where I need my pluck,” she said to herself, not frightened, but wondering at the situation. “I’ll go ahead, but I feel like Alice in Wonderland. I know I’ll fall into a treacle well.”
She traversed half the length of the long building, when she saw a man, writing in one of the small compartments.
He looked up at her, and then, apparently without interest in her presence there, resumed his work.
Patty was a little annoyed at what she thought discourtesy, and said:
“I’ve come to answer your advertisement.”
“Fourth floor,” said the man, indicating the direction by pointing his penholder across the room, but not looking up.
“Thank you,” said Patty, in a tone intended to rebuke his own lack of manners.
But he only went on writing, and she turned to look for the elevator.
She could see none, however, so she walked on, thinking how like a maze was this succession of small rooms and little cross aisles. When she saw another man writing in another coop, she said politely:
“Will you please direct me to the elevator?”