“Thank you,” said Quincy.
“We make it a rule, or rather my employer does, that tenants and their callers shall be treated with civility and their wants attended to promptly.”
Again Quincy eyed the telephone stand with a view to its use as a weapon.
“Ting-a-ling! Ting-a-ling! Miss Dana—yes, Mr. Cass—Mr. Quincy Adams Sawyer, Junior, wishes to call upon you in your sitting-room. Is it agreeable to you? Very well, he will come right up.”
Mr. Cass replaced the receiver with deliberation, first unwinding a tangled coil in the cord.
“Take the elevator—third floor—number 42—she insisted upon taking that suite for some personal reason—”
Quincy waited to hear no more but started for the elevator. Mr. Cass reached it as soon as he did, and motioned for the elevator man to postpone the ascent until he had finished his remarks.
“The outside door is locked at eleven, Mr. Sawyer, but you have only to turn the upper handle to insure an exit.”
“Your clerk is quite loquacious,” remarked Quincy as they slowly mounted upward.
“What's that?”