With a wild rush the owner of the face catapulted into the elevator and closed the grating. Then he turned and faced him.
“Run me up, quick!”
“Good God!” said the elevator man.
There were steps in the entrance. With a frenzied gesture Sergeant Gray, of the Headquarters Troop of the ——th Division, gave a pull at the lever. The car descended with a jerk.
“Leggo that thing,” said the elevator man, now wildly terrified. “Want to shoot down into the subway?”
Thoroughly frenzied, Sergeant Gray pulled the lever the other way. The car stopped, trembled, ascended. For a moment two stenographers waiting on the ground floor had a vision of a strange figure in undershirt, cotton, one, and nether garments to match, surmounted by a distorted face, passing on its way to the upper floors.
Sergeant Gray surrendered the lever, and ran a trembling hand across his forehead.
“You’ve got to hide me somewhere,” he shouted. “Look at me!”
“I see you,” said the elevator man. “Y’ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
“You’ve got to hide me,” insisted Sergeant Gray; “and then you’ve got to go out and buy me some clothes.”