Elfrida lifted her hand
to knock, then changed her mind and opened the door.
It was a small room lined on two sides with deal
compartments bulging with dusty papers. There were two
or three shelves of uninteresting-looking books, and a
desk which extended into a counter. The upper panes of
the window were ragged with cobwebs, and the air of the
place was redolent of stale publications. A thick-set
little man in spectacles sat at the desk. It was not Mr.
Curtis.
The thick-set man rose as Elfrida entered, and came
forward a dubious step or two. His expression was not
encouraging.
"I have called to see the editor, Mr. Curtis," said she.
"The editor is not here."
"Oh, isn't he? I'm sorry for that. When is he likely to
be in? I want to see him particularly."
"He only comes here once a week, for about an hour,"
replied the little man, reluctant even to say so much.
"But I could see that he got a letter."
"Thanks," returned Elfrida. "At what time and on what
day does he usually come?"
"That I'm not at liberty to say," the occupant of the
desk replied briefly, and sat down again.
"Where _is_ Mr. Curtis?" Elfrida asked. She had not
counted upon this. To the physical depression of her walk
there added itself a strong disgust with the unsuccessful
situation.
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