“What’s happened to your eyebrows?” he asked. “Looks like you’ve been in a fire.”
Flash squinted at his reflection in the elevator mirror. Not only his eyebrows but some of his hair as well had been singed off. His clothes were mussed and his blistered face was smeared with soot.
“Rush me up to three,” he said crisply.
“Yes, sir.” For the first time since Flash had started work on the Ledger, the elevator man addressed him in a tone of deep respect.
The only other passenger in the cage was Old Herm, the watchman. He, too, regarded the young photographer with more than average curiosity.
“Where was the fire?” he inquired.
“The Elston Apartment district.”
“Get some good pictures?”
“I think so.” Flash could not hide his triumph. “Maybe they’ll be good enough to pull me out of the dog house.”
Old Herm nodded and grinned in a friendly way.