"No," the clerk answered curtly; then he added: "Nobody sees the boss without an appointment. We told Mr. Panel to call to-morrow."
If the clerk had spoken with tongues of angels Lily could not have assumed a more seraphic expression.
"An' where is he now?" she asked.
"Your husband, ma'am? I can't tell you."
"I mean Mr. Leveson."
"He's in there," the private room was indicated, "and up to his eyes in work. He won't quit till he goes to dinner at the Paloma. D'ye hear the typewriters clicking? He makes things hum when he's here, and don't you forget it."
"I shall never forget that," said Mrs. Panel, in an accent which made me remember that her grandfather had been a graduate of Harvard University. "Good-afternoon."
We walked on down the street. Suddenly, Mrs. Panel staggered, and might have fallen had I not firmly grasped her arm.
"I dunno' what ails me," she muttered.
"Did you eat any breakfast this morning?"