They rode to the fourth floor in one-level leaps, stopping to unload several guests on each floor. The upper floor hall was of modest length, running fore and aft of the long, narrow building, as he had first sized it up. Where were all the wings—the wings with the separate elevators?
The boy let him into the light, airy apartment, dropped his bags in the middle of the floor and started out abruptly. Sextus called him back.
"Yeah, what'll it be—Chief?" His voice was derisive.
"How many rooms do we have here, fellow?"
"Twenny-six hunnerd and all full for the season, so if you'll just leggo of me—"
"Don't you enjoy your work here?"
"I detest it. Go ahead, fire me, chum. I'm lookin' for an excuse to clear out."
"Very well, you have one. Check out with the captain." Sextus couldn't tolerate discourteous familiarity. Friendly familiarity was bad enough, but the "chum" did it.
The boy banged the door behind him.
Sextus opened his bag. From it he extracted a fifth of whiskey which he took to the tiled bathroom. He stripped the cellophane from a drinking glass, poured it half-full of the amber liquor and drained it.