One has a
camera. I imagine they want to get a story on your morning's
sensations."
Bob had not yet met Mr. Littell, but he had a lively idea of what
that gentleman might say should he find his daughters' pictures
spread over the first page of the evening papers, accompanied by a
more or less accurate analysis of their emotions during the trying
period through which they had just passed.
"Whisk us into your office, can't you, Mr. Derby?" he urged,
"They're stopping people as they go down; they'll take no notice of
us if we go on up to the fourth floor."
The crowd, satisfied that no one had been killed or was likely to
be, had drifted down the staircase, the two alert youths questioning
each one in an effort to get the stories of those who had been in the
stalled car. The negro operator had already furnished enough copy for
a half-column of thrills.
Mr. Derby managed to usher the girls and Bob upstairs to his office
without exciting suspicion, and once there the question of how to get
to the street was considered. There were still enough people in the
corridors to make a quick run down impossible, and the elevator was,
of course, out of commission.
"I'll tell you," said Mr.
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