Lawton: “What pastoral simplicity! We are elevated here to a degree that you can’t conceive of, gentle shepherd. Has yours got an air-cushion, Mrs. Roberts?”
Mrs. Roberts: “An air-cushion? What’s that?”
Lawton: “The only thing that makes your life worth a moment’s purchase in an elevator. You get in with a glass of water, a basket of eggs, and a file of the ‘Daily Advertiser.’ They cut the elevator loose at the top, and you drop.”
Both Ladies: “Oh!”
Lawton: “In three seconds you arrive at the ground-floor, reading your file of the ‘Daily Advertiser;’ not an egg broken nor a drop spilled. I saw it done in a New York hotel. The air is compressed under the elevator, and acts as a sort of ethereal buffer.”
Mrs. Roberts: “And why don’t we always go down in that way?”
Lawton: “Because sometimes the walls of the elevator shaft give out.”
Mrs. Roberts: “And what then?”
Lawton: “Then the elevator stops more abruptly. I had a friend who tried it when this happened.”
Mrs. Roberts: “And what did he do?”