Mrs. Crashaw, sternly ignoring the insinuation: “Ask him if there’s any means of calling the janitor.”
Miller: “Could you call the janitor?”
The Elevator Boy, ironically: “Well, there ain’t any telephone attachment.”
Miller, solemnly: “No, he says there isn’t.”
Mrs. Crashaw, sinking back on the seat with resignation: “Well, I don’t know what my niece will say.”
Miss Lawton: “Poor papa!”
Young Mr. Bemis, gathering one of her wandering hands into his: “Don’t be frightened. I’m sure there’s no danger.”
The Elevator Boy, indignantly: “Why, she can’t drop. The cogs in the runs won’t let her!”
All: “Oh!”
Miller, with a sigh of relief: “I knew there must be something of the kind. Well, I wish my wife had her fan.”