“Were you looking for us, Mr. Brook?”
“Of course I was. And I should like to know how in the world you get into these houses. There is no bell, and the door-knob won’t turn, and I’d stood here as long as I dared with the wind blowing forty miles an hour. I sent cabby off to walk his horses up and down, and he’s disappeared entirely. I left my man at the hotel, in bed with the rheumatism; and—if there’s any way of getting into this prison and if you really live here, I should like to be admitted.”
“Certainly. Beg pardon for keeping you so long. See—this is the way. Touch one of those little knobs, the one opposite the card with ‘Beckwith’ on it and the door will open almost immediately. Electric bells, you know.”
“Unluckily, I didn’t know! I hate these new-fangled ‘conveniences’ that are ten times as much trouble as old-fashioned things. I’m not quite a fool, my dear, though I may have been presented to you in that light on both occasions of our meeting. I simply did not know how to get in; but I concluded that if I made noise enough somebody would hear and answer,” said Mr. Brook, smiling merrily, now that the door had opened noiselessly, as if by spirit hands, and a hallway with orthodox stairs was revealed.
“And somebody did!” returned Bonny, quite as gayly; while Robert, who had slipped up and thrown his arm about his sister’s waist, laughed outright.
“Humph! Who are you, sir? You were one of the boys who jeered the loudest, if I’m not mistaken,” said the visitor, turning with a savage frown toward the lad.
“I’m her brother.”
“Yes. My brother Robert. He isn’t as bad as he looks, Mr. Brook. Perhaps you would better wait a moment and get your breath. It is pretty high up—on the fifth floor.”
“Good gracious! Is this one of those ‘flat’ houses I hear about?”
“Yes.”