It was Saturday afternoon, and when Nick found that the elevator was not running he was not surprised.
Evidently most of the offices in the building closed on Saturdays before this late hour.
A young man neatly, almost foppishly, dressed, had entered the building ten seconds ahead of Nick and was near the first landing on the stairs walking up when Nick placed his foot on the first step ready to follow.
Just then there came ringing through the building the sound of the footsteps of some one flying down the stairs in precipitate haste.
Nick, by looking up, saw that the person making the furious descent was a boy about fourteen years old.
The well-dressed young man stopped when he heard the boy coming, and as the latter reached him he grasped the lad by the coat, and brought him up with a jerk.[{4}]
“What in thunder ails you?” growled the young man.
For a moment the boy could not utter a word. His face was white as chalk, his teeth were chattering in his head, and he trembled so that it seemed he must fall in a heap.
The young man gave him a vigorous shake and cried:
“Can’t you speak? What have you done? Where are you going?”