The same world-weary boy received her card when she entered the suite of offices. He considered it, and Joan as well, dispassionately.
"Whoja wanna see?" he mumbled with patent effort.
Joan's prettiest smile was apparently wasted upon the temperament of an anchorite.
"Mr. Arlington, please."
The boy offered to return the card: "He ain't in."
"That's what you always tell me."
"He ain't never in."
"Very well," said Joan sweetly: "I'll wait."
The boy started to say something pointed, hesitated, regarded her with dull suspicion, and suddenly enquired:
"Whaja wanna see 'm 'bout?"