Big—everything around here was big! The elevator could have accommodated several pianos and the pretty red-head operating the lift had to look down at H.D. She winked and made a laughing remark.
"She says you're cute."
H.D. did not know whether to be pleased or offended and before he could decide the acceleration took his breath away. They went up, up, a ridiculous distance, and at last he stepped out into another corridor.
Corridor! The floor must have been forty yards across and most of it was moving, a series of horizontal escalators with three speeds in each direction, adjacent strips moving at different speeds.
While H.D. stared, Junior and Garry Jones had stepped aboard the nearest strip and were moving away. Now Jones came trotting back, making little headway against the conveyor's motion. He had to chuckle.
In my country, said the queen, you have to run like the devil to stay in the same place.
"Come on, Mr. Haworth," Garry called. H.D. waited for the next opening in the rail to oppose him, took hold and stepped on. When he had come up, Garry explained, "This is Chicago—this building—this is the whole city, the business part, that is. This is one of the transport levels."
"Hmm." The place didn't look right—too bare, too empty. "Where are the stores? Where are the signs? Where are the people?"
"Stores? Oh, this is just a garage. Working day's over. Just about everybody's gone home."