“They won’t b’lieve nothin’ that costs,” said Simmy, with finality.
“I’m going out to solicit advertising,” she said, “and I’m not coming back until I get something.”
“Um!... G’-by, Lady. Hope we see you ag’in.”
In front of the office Carmel hesitated, then turned to the left. The first place of business in that direction was identified by a small black-and-gold sign protruding over the sidewalk, making it known that here one might obtain the handiwork of Lancelot Bangs, Photographer. In glass cases about the doors were numerous specimens of Lancelot’s art, mostly of cabinet size, mounted on gilt-edged cards. Mr. Bangs, it would appear, had few ideas as to the posturing of his patrons. Gentlemen, photographed alone, were invariably seated in a huge chair, the left hand gripping the arm, inexorably, the right elbow leaning upon the other arm, and the head turned slightly to one side as if the sitter were thinking deep thoughts of a solemn nature. Ladies stood, one foot advanced, hands clasped upon the stomach in order that the wedding ring might show plainly; with chins dipped a trifle downward and eyes lifted coyly, which, in dowagers of sixty, with embonpoints and steel-rimmed spectacles, gave a highly desirable effect.
Carmel studied these works of art briefly and then climbed the uncarpeted stairs. Each step bore upon its tread a printed cardboard sign informative of some business or profession carried on in the rooms above, such as Jenkins & Hopper, Fire Insurance; Warren P. Bauer, D.D.S., and the like. The first door at the top, curtained within, was labeled Photographic Studio, and this Carmel entered with some trepidation, for it was her first business call. As the door swung inward a bell sounded in the distance. Carmel stood waiting.
Almost instantly a youngish man appeared from behind a screen depicting a grayish-blue forest practically lost to view in a dense fog. At sight of Carmel he halted abruptly and altered his bearing and expression to one of elegant hospitality. He settled his vest cautiously, and passed his hand over his sleek hair daintily to reassure himself of its perfect sleekness. Then he bowed.
“A-aa-ah.... Good morning!” he said, tentatively.
“Mr. Bangs?”
“The same.”
“I am Miss Lee, proprietor of the Free Press.”