"You do, indeed. But where are the chains and rings?"
"Fiddle! I hope I know better than that, now."
The elevators were sliding up and down behind their gilded grilles with great rapidity, and hundreds of hungry helpers were stepping out of them in search of brief refreshment. Some of these stopped in the basement vestibule, and our young people, looking over the balustrade, saw them buying packages of cigarettes or the noon papers. There came to them, too, the voice of the man who stood at the foot of the elevator shafts and who regulated the movements of the various cabs by calling out their numbers with a laconic yawp. He wore a blue uniform with gilt buttons and he had a gold band on his cap. He was as important as Ingles himself—perhaps more so.
"I believe I'll go up to the restaurant to-day," said Cornelia, with a precious little intonation. Her mincing tone intimated a variety of things—altered conditions among them.
"I go up there occasionally myself," said Ogden. "You have entertained me several times downstairs, and you ought to give me my chance now, don't you think?"
"Quite happy, I'm sure," she murmured demurely.
"Up!" called Ogden, and up they went.
"Well," said Cornelia, a few minutes later, taking off her gloves with a self-conscious grace, and pushing aside her tumbler so as to find a place to lay them, "I can't say I've been overworked this morning. I haven't seen my new man at all."
"He's out a good deal."
"But the old one was on deck."