"Who says you haven't done well with the Clifton?" demanded Ann Wilde. Host of the ladies had retired from these masculine topics, and were huddled in a gossipy little group at the foot of the stairs; Ann had remained behind, as an owner of real property. "That system of elevators is the most magnificent thing I ever saw."
Atwater groaned. "That's all a building is nowadays—one mass of pipes, pulleys, wires, tubes, shafts, chutes, and what not, running through an iron cage of from fourteen, to twenty stages. Then the artist comes along and is asked to apply the architecture by festooning on a lot of tile, brick, and terra-cotta. And over the whole thing hovers incessantly the demon of Nine-per-cent."
"A slap at me," said Ingles.
"It's enough to make you wonder whether Pericles ever lived. I doubt if he did," concluded Atwater.
"Are you the only sufferer?" asked his client. "How many of our sub-contractors failed?"
"Two."
"How many times were we set on fire by salamanders?"
"Three."
"How many drunken night-watchmen were discharged?"
"Four or five."