CHAPTER XXV

—And Elsa Develops a Little “Idea”!

She saw Silas Moffit look up from his paper suddenly—and regard her suspiciously. But she remained bland and genial—even though she was seething inside. She even added to her invitation by rising from her chair and saying:

“In fact, Unc1e, you can take my swivel chair here—which I’m sure will be more comfortable.”

“But won’t you need your chair for work—but you’re not going out, are you? I gathered from your conversation that you have several important calls coming in. You shouldn’t lea—”

“That’s true—about some calls coming in. Yes. Though—they’re not important at all. I assure you. Anyway, they’re not due to come in for quite a while. In the meanwhile, I’m going to skip over to Monroe Street—to a dress shop called Francine de Loux, just off State—and snatch myself up something to wear in court tonight. I’ll hop the new Dearborn Street ‘shuttle car’ downstairs, and be at Monroe in 5 minutes. Will be back, in fact, before you’ve finished your Real Estate News. Which I note is unusually thick this week.”

“All right,” he said grudgingly, “I will take the swivel chair then—and gladly. This lone chair you’ve got here for visitors—minus handles, and with a crossbar in the back that cuts into a man’s very spine!—is the most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever sat in.”

And, Real Estate News in one hand—and umbrella, rescued from the wall where he’d been sitting, in the other, its crab-apple bulge and its miniature of alcohol bulge now uppermost—he promptly vacated the chair in question, and while Elsa was taking down a soft-knitted black tam-o-shanter cap from a hook near the door, he dropped down with an expectant sigh into the far more comfortable-looking swivel chair. Only to—

“O-oof!” he ejaculated. As under his heavier weight it surged way, way back. “Why—why on earth,” he said, righting himself hastily by flinging his torso—and therefore his center of gravity—far, far forward, “don’t you tighten the spring—of this damned thing?”

And disgruntledly—and very cautiously, lest, no doubt, its very loss would again disturb his precariously attained balance, he gingerly deposited his umbrella—crab-apple and miniature alcohol bulges now on the visible edge!—across Elsa’s desk, back out of the way of things. He continued, however, successfully to hold his erect position. And now teetered experimentally, feet however, firm on floor. “Why,” he demanded again, “don’t you tighten the spring of this damn thing?”

“For two very good reasons,” Elsa told him coldly. “One being that I weigh only 90 pounds—and don’t need much of a spring. And the other being that the chair is second-handed—and the spring worn out anyway.”

“Well,” he said cheerfully, planting a foot firmly on each side of the chair, well back of its front legs—a thing he could easily do, thanks to the fact that Elsa had made it low for her own short legs—and with the result that he could now rock with complete safety, “you’ll get a hundred dollars just for merely appearing in court tonight. And can thereby refurbish this entire office.”

“And,” Elsa said grimly to herself, “be likewise out, at the same time, by that same ‘mere appearing in court’ by only $99,900! Wurra—wurra—wot a bargain! How in billy-hell, I wonder, can a court trial—where everybody in it but the defense lawyer is just aching to go ahead—be derailed? Aye—how?”

She had her hand on the doorknob now. And, paper in hand, he was looking queryingly at her.

“Do you mind, Elsa—locking the door after you? As I note it hasn’t a springlock?”

“Why no—no—but why?—the scrubwomen don’t pour in here till around 10.”

“Perhaps not, but I don’t want to waste words with every Tom, Dick and Harry of a life insurance agent—book agent—and whatnot else—who tries to comb this building on his supper-coffee.”

“Well,” she admitted, “they do, I will admit, work office buildings assiduously after supper these days. But not, Uncle, because of their supper-coffee; but because of the supper-coffee drunk by their prospects!”

“Well, I drank none,” he said. “And so want no confab. Lock me in. And they can rap their fists off outside.”

“Okay!” Elsa assented. And in view of that certain plan for getting her office vacated—which, if it took place before she returned, would leave her typewriter at the mercy of any sneak-thief, she didn’t know but that her uncle’s idea was a good one. For her, anyway!

“But in case,” she warned him mockingly, taking out the key from a pocket in her gray knit dress, “there’s a fire—well, have you got a rope, Uncle, inside your handy umbrella there, that will drop 10 floors to the street? For there be nary fire escape on this particular window—nor the two on either side of it!”

“I have no rope,” he returned unsmilingly. “But I’ve a heavy-soled shoe with which, at the first smell of smoke, I’ll neatly kick through your frosted glass door—after which I’ll step through into the arms of the firemen. So be off—so that—ahem—you can get back.”

“We’re off, then!” she said. And stepped outside. Closing and locking the door.

Now of course, she could not see him, thanks to the exceeding thickness of the brightly lighted frosted glass which bore her name, but knew at least that he was not prowling. At least—not yet! For she could hear him creaking comfortably to and fro in her chair. The rusty spring giving forth a peculiar singsong that seemed to go “e-eeka—onka—e-eeka—onka—”

And, satisfied thus that he was as yet in no mischief, she strode grimly toward the elevators.