He tucked the envelope carefully in his pocket, rose, and sauntered out of the doorway. He moved slowly, carelessly, idling with the relish of a man who finds little time to idle.
He was gone for less than ten minutes altogether. When he came back in the door and passed through the lobby his expression had grown subtly more content. The ten-minutes’ exercise had “shaken down” his dinner, his cigar had proved all that the brand warranted, and he was at peace with the world. As he made his way into the elevator he was even humming a little.
“Three,” he commented, as the car shot upward. “By the way, is there a good show in town tonight?”
“Yessuh, Ah reg’n so. Dey usual’ is. Y’might ax at de desk.”
The elevator-door clanged open at the third floor and he went out. The elevator-boy saw him fitting a key into the lock of his room. He was still humming. The elevator-door shut, and the cage dropped to the lobby floor again.
“Gosh,” said the elevator-boy to his confrére, the chief bell-hop. “Dem trabelin’ men sho’ has it easy. Dey goes to de shows an’ jes’ chahges it in d’ expense account. Y’ bettuh tote out half a pint. Dis gen’leman in three-eighty looks lak he mought be intrusted.”
The chief bell-hop rose.
“Bress Gawd fo’ Prohibition,” he commented piously. “Ef t’wasn’t fo’ de law, us hotel-help would hab t’ live on ouah tips.”
He sauntered into a small private closet and a little later stepped briskly up the stairs. It was certainly not more than two minutes from the time the elevator-boy saw Craig unlock the door, humming a little, to the time the bell-hop knocked softly. But where the elevator-boy carried away an impression of carefree contentment and casual cheer, the bell-hop straightened involuntarily when he heard a voice from within.
“Come in!”