“Wonderful out. Real warm for this time of year. Real Indian summer outside. Real nice weather.”
“That’s fine,” said Robert Holton, glad to hear that the weather was good.
“Any news on the market?” asked Joe, stopping at the seventh floor.
“Nothing new.” A middle-aged man, tall and thin, came into the elevator. Robert Holton had seen him almost every day for a year but they never spoke. The middle-aged man wore a black shiny topcoat and he carried a large leather brief case in which the outlines of an apple could be seen.
“I guess there’s nothing for me to put my money in, I guess,” said Joe.
“I shouldn’t advise buying now,” said Robert Holton. It was a daily joke of theirs. Joe would pretend he had money to invest and wanted advice.
They stopped at the second floor and another tall thin man in a shiny black overcoat got into the elevator. This man had a red face, though, and the other man had a white face. Neither of them ever spoke. Robert Holton often wondered what they did for a living, whether they had wives or not.
“Well, here we are,” said Joe, opening the door. “We made it all right this time.”
“We certainly did.” Robert Holton followed the two older men out of the elevator and into the lobby.
The lobby was high-ceilinged and old-fashioned. Tropical bushes grew in buckets and a gray chandelier was suspended from the center of the ceiling. At the desk sat a faded little woman.