All the store employees on that floor had joined in the search by this time. Finally, the young salesgirl suggested that they ask the elevator man whether any one had left the floor with Tommy. Maybe he had noticed him and would remember.
“Well, all right,” agreed Joan, half-heartedly. “Though I hardly believe it will do any good.”
They strolled over to the elevator. The man who ran it was old and wore a black skullcap. He sat on a tall-legged stool while he operated the car.
“Why, yes,” he answered to their question. “There was a little boy—about three years old, I should judge—in a white suit. He came off of this floor awhile ago, with a bunch of women, and I just naturally supposed he was with them.”
Of course, Tommy was only two, but he did look more grown-up in the new clothes.
“Did he go up or down?” Joan demanded.
“Up, I think.” He jerked his black-capped head in answer.
The two girls dashed into the little car and got off at the next floor. It was the women’s wear department. Again they hunted through all the fitting rooms, behind the counters and show cases and everywhere. But no Tommy.
There was still the fourth floor. The last one. Would he be there? Joan was weak with fear. They squeezed into the elevator again. “Furniture, Victrolas, Radios,” thundered the elevator man, as the iron gates opened out.
So many suites of highly polished furniture, so many big, shadowy beds and high bureaus, behind which a little boy could be hidden. Suddenly, the blare of a radio going full blast told them that the music department was just beyond. They went on there. A radio was pealing out “The Stars and Stripes Forever” to a rapt audience of two.