In
and out skurried a dozen office-boys, responding to calls from various
desks, bringing bundles of proofs, thrusting copy into boxes which
instantly and noisily shot up through the ceiling.
It was a scene of confusion and furious activity. The face of each
individual was calm and his motions by themselves were not excited. But
taking all together and adding the tense, strained expression underneath
the calm--the expression of the professional gambler--there was a total of
active energy that was oppressive.
"We had a fire below us one night," said Howard. "We are two hundred feet
from the street and there were no fire escapes. We all thought it was
good-bye. It was nearly half an hour before we found out that the smoke
booming up the stairways and into this room had no danger behind it."
"Gracious!" Mrs. Carnarvon shuddered and looked uneasily about.
"It's perfectly safe," Howard reassured her. "We've arranged things better
since then. Besides, that fire demonstrated that the building was
fireproof."
"And what happened?" asked Miss Trevor.
"Why, just what you see now. The Managing Editor, Mr. King over there--I'll
introduce him to you presently--went up to a group of men standing at one
of the windows. They were pretending indifference as they looked down at
the crowd which was shouting and tossing its arms in a way that more than
suggested pity for us poor devils up here.
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