“Seems to me,” said Mr. York, pausing to sniff suspiciously, “I smell smoke. Don’t you?”
“Smoke? No, I don’t think so. Probably from the railroad. It comes up here when the wind’s right. Smell anything, Craig?”
“Yes, sir, I believe there is a smoky smell.”
“Well, come on. This building’s fireproof, anyway.”
“It’s what?” demanded Mr. York as he allowed himself to be urged through the door.
“Fireproof, or what they call fireproof.”
“It’s about as fireproof as a can of gasoline,” said the architect as Mr. Hall closed the door and turned the lights on. “You’ve got nice brick and stone walls, but your partitions are only plaster over lathing and your floors are the best quality of ‘fat’ pine. If this thing ever did catch on fire and get a nice start it would go like a bundle of shavings. Where’s your fire escape?”
“Fire escape? Why, at the back, I think; down the corridor.”
“It might be a good idea to find out,” returned the other drily. “Well, Sam, how did the hike go?”