Maxwell glanced up at the sign. "If they do seventy-six per cent or more of the business, they're a monopoly. It must pain Whiteford to have to hold himself down to only seventy-five."
"Whiteford?"
Maxwell looked surprised. "You haven't heard of him? The newest boy wonder in the business world? He's the genius who runs this modern slave market." He looked at his watch. "And, incidentally, he's also the guy we've got an appointment with in five minutes."
They joined the crowds streaming up the wide, granite steps and found themselves in the large entrance lobby, directly opposite the battery of ascending elevators.
The small man approached the starter. "—ah—pardon me, but would you tell us what floor Personnel Incorporated is on?"
The starter looked shocked. "Poisonnel ain't just on one floor, Mister, it's the whole building. Who'dja wanna see?"
"We wanted to—well, that is—whoever's in...."
The starter brushed him aside. "Step outta the way of the passengers, Mister. Be with ya in a second.... Okay, lady, maid soivice and domestics is on the thoity-foist floor. Don't shove in the elevator, please! Next elevator, please!"
He turned back to the small man.
"We got administration on the foist floor. Second floor, automotive and transportation. Assemblers, welders, painters, cushion upholsterers, sprayers, mock-up men, testers and greasers. Thoid floor, electrical. Solderers, cabinet workers, wirers, draftsmen, coil-winders, and design expoits. Next floor, entertainers. Everything from acrobats to zither players and concert ottists. Fifth...."