FORSYTE'S RETREAT
By Winston Marks
Illustration by Kelly Freas
[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from IF Worlds of Science Fiction May 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Sextus Rollo Forsyte had his trouble with the bottle, but nothing out of a bottle ever produced such a hotel as the Mahoney-Plaza: only 260 rooms ... only two guests to a room ... but accommodating 5200 guests—all at the same time!... Floor please?
At last he was second in line. He squared his shoulders and pulled at the lower edges of his black double-breasted suitcoat to erase the travel wrinkles. The applicant ahead of him exploded the words, "Nuts! I'll leave town first. I just came from the Phony-Plaza. You can take that squirrel-cage and—"
"Next!" the employment agent called sadly. Sextus Rollo Forsyte moved up and sat in the oak chair before the oak desk and faced the oak-featured man with the jobs.
"Forsyte is the name," Sextus reminded. The man riffled through the application cards.