But Ray Willets did not wait to hear the rest. She was off down the aisle toward the elevator marked "Employees." The superintendent"s office was on the ninth floor. She stopped there. The grey superintendent was writing at his desk. He did not look up as Ray entered, thus observing rules one and two in the proper conduct of superintendents when interviewing employees. Ray Willets, standing by his desk, did not cough or wriggle or rustle her skirts or sag on one hip. A consciousness of her quiet penetrated the superintendent"s mind.
He glanced up hurriedly over his left shoulder. Then he laid down his pencil and sat up slowly.
"Oh, it"s you!" he said.
"Yes, it"s me," replied Ray Willets simply. "I"ve been here a month to-day."
"Oh, yes." He ran his fingers through his hair so that the brown forelock stood away from the grey. "You"ve lost some of your roses," he said, and tapped his cheek. "What"s the trouble?"
"I guess it"s the dress," explained Ray, and glanced down at the folds of her gown. She hesitated a moment awkwardly. "You said you"d send for me at the end of the month. You didn"t."
"That"s all right," said the grey superintendent. "I was pretty sure I hadn"t made a mistake. I can gauge applicants pretty fairly. Let"s see--you"re in the lingerie, aren"t you?"
"Yes."
Then with a rush: "That"s what I want to talk to you about. I"ve changed my mind. I don"t want to stay in the lingeries. I"d like to be transferred to the kitchen utensils and household goods."
"Transferred! Well, I"ll see what I can do. What was the name now? I forget."
A queer look stole into Ray Willets" face, a look of determination and shrewdness.
"Name?" she said. "My name is Rachel Wiletzky."
VIII
THE HOOKER-UP-THE-BACK
Miss Sadie Corn was not a charmer, but when you handed your room-key to her you found yourself stopping to chat a moment. If you were the right kind you showed her your wife"s picture in the front of your watch. If you were the wrong kind, with your scant hair carefully combed to hide the bald spot, you showed her the newspaper clipping that you carried in your vest pocket. Following inspection of the first, Sadie Corn would say: "Now that"s what I call a sweet face! How old is the youngest?"
Upon perusal the second was returned with dignity and: "Is that supposed to be funny?" In each case Sadie Corn had you placed for life.
She possessed the invaluable gift of the floor clerk, did Sadie Corn--that of remembering names and faces. Though you had registered at the Hotel Magnifique but the night before, for the first time, Sadie Corn would look up at you over her gla.s.ses as she laid your key in its proper row, and say: "Good morning, Mr. Schultz! Sleep well?"
"Me!" you would stammer, surprised and gratified. "Me! Fine!
H"m--Thanks!" Whereupon you would cross your right foot over your left nonchalantly and enjoy that brief moment"s chat with Floor Clerk Number Two. You went back to Ishpeming, Michigan, with three new impressions: The first was that you were becoming a personage of considerable importance. The second was that the Magnifique realised this great truth and was grateful for your patronage. The third was that New York was a friendly little hole after all!
Miss Sadie Corn was dean of the Hotel Magnifique"s floor clerks. The primary requisite in successful floor clerkship is homeliness. The second is discreet age. The third is tact. And for the benefit of those who think the duties of a floor clerk end when she takes your key when you leave your room, and hands it back as you return, it may be mentioned that the fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh requisites are diplomacy, ingenuity, unlimited patience and a comprehensive knowledge of human nature. Amba.s.sadors have been known to keep their jobs on less than that.
She had come to the Magnifique at thirty-three, a plain, spare, sallow woman, with a quiet, capable manner, a pungent trick of the tongue on occasion, a spa.r.s.e fluff of pale-coloured hair, and big, bony-knuckled hands, such as you see on women who have the gift of humanness. She was forty-eight now--still plain, still spare, still sallow. Those bony, big-knuckled fingers had handed keys to potentates, and pork-packers, and millinery buyers from Seattle; and to princes incognito, and paupers much the same--the difference being that the princes dressed down to the part, while the paupers dressed up to it.
Time, experience, understanding and the daily dealing with ever-changing humanity had brought certain lines into Sadie Corn"s face. So skilfully were they placed that the un.o.bservant put them down as wrinkles on the countenance of a homely, middle-aged woman; but he who read as he ran saw that the lines about the eyes were quizzical, shrewd lines, which come from the practice of gauging character at a glance; that the mouth-markings meant tolerance and sympathy and humour; that the forehead furrows had been carved there by those master chisellers, suffering and sacrifice.
In the last three or four years Sadie Corn had taken to wearing a little lavender-and-white crocheted shawl about her shoulders on cool days, and when Two-fifty-seven, who was a regular, caught his annual heavy cold late in the fall, Sadie would ask him sharply whether he had on his winter flannels. On his replying in the negative she would rebuke him scathingly and demand a bill of sizable denomination; and when her watch was over she would sally forth to purchase four sets of men"s winter underwear. As captain of the Magnifique"s thirty-four floor clerks Sadie Corn"s authority extended from the parlours to the roof, but her especial domain was floor two. Ensconced behind her little desk in a corner, blocked in by mailracks, pantry signals, pneumatic-tube chutes and telephone, with a clear view of the elevators and stairway, Sadie Corn was mistress of the moods, manners and morals of the Magnifique"s second floor.
It was six thirty p.m. on Monday of Automobile Show Week when Sadie Corn came on watch. She came on with a lively, well-developed case of neuralgia over her right eye and extending down into her back teeth.
With its usual spitefulness the attack had chosen to make its appearance during her long watch. It never selected her short-watch days, when she was on duty only from eleven a.m. until six-thirty p.m.
Now with a peppermint bottle held close to alternately sniffing nostrils Sadie Corn was running her eye over the complex report sheet of the floor clerk who had just gone off watch. The report was even more detailed and lengthy than usual. Automobile Show Week meant that the always prosperous Magnifique was filled to the eaves and turning them away. It meant twice the usual number of inside telephone calls anent rooms too hot, rooms too cold, radiators hammering, radiators hissing, windows that refused to open, windows that refused to shut, packages undelivered, hot water not forthcoming. As the human buffers between guests and hotel management, it was the duty of Sadie Corn and her diplomatic squad to pacify the peevish, to smooth the path of the paying.
Down the hall strolled Donahue, the house detective--Donahue the leisurely. Donahue the keen-eyed, Donahue the guileless--looking in his evening clothes for all the world like a prosperous diner-out. He smiled benignly upon Sadie Corn, and Sadie Corn had the bravery to smile back in spite of her neuralgia, knowing well that men have no sympathy with that anguishing ailment and no understanding of it.
"Everything serene, Miss Corn?" inquired Donahue.
"Everything"s serene," said Sadie Corn. "Though Two-thirty-three telephoned a minute ago to say that if the valet didn"t bring his pants from the presser in the next two seconds he"d come down the hall as he is and get "em. Perhaps you"d better stay round."
Donahue chuckled and pa.s.sed on. Half way down the hall he retraced his steps, and stopped again before Sadie Corn"s busy desk. He balanced a moment thoughtfully from toe to heel, his chin lifted inquiringly: "Keep your eye on Two-eighteen and Two-twenty-three this morning?"
"Like a lynx!" answered Sadie.
"Anything?"
"Not a thing. I guess they just sc.r.a.ped acquaintance in the Alley after dinner, like they sometimes do. A man with eyelashes like his always speaks to any woman alone who isn"t pockmarked and toothless. Two minutes after he"s met a girl his voice takes on the "cello note. I know his kind. Why, say, he even tried waving those eyelashes of his at me first time he turned in his key; and goodness knows I"m so homely that pretty soon I"ll be ripe for bachelor floor thirteen. You know as well as I that to qualify for that job a floor clerk"s got to look like a gargoyle."
"Maybe they"re all right," said Donahue thoughtfully. "If it"s just a flirtation, why--anyway, watch "em this evening. The day watch listened in and says they"ve made some date for to-night."
He was off down the hall again with his light, quick step that still had the appearance of leisureliness.
The telephone at Sadie"s right buzzed warningly. Sadie picked up the receiver and plunged into the busiest half hour of the evening. From that moment until seven o"clock her nimble fingers and eyes and brain and tongue directed the steps of her little world. She held the telephone receiver at one ear and listened to the demands of incoming and outgoing guests with the other. She jotted down reports, dealt out mail and room-keys, kept her neuralgic eye on stairs and elevators and halls, her sound orb on tube and pantry signals, while through and between and above all she guided the stream of humanity that trickled past her desk--bellhops, Polish chambermaids, messenger boys, guests, waiters, parlour maids.
Just before seven there disembarked at floor two out of the cream-and-gold elevator one of those visions that have helped to make Fifth Avenue a street of the worst-dressed women in the world. The vision was Two-eighteen, and her clothes were of the kind that prepared you for the shock that you got when you looked at her face. Plume met fur, and fur met silk, and silk met lace, and lace met gold--and the whole met and ran into a riot of colour, and perfume--and little jangling, swishing sounds. Just by glancing at Two-eighteen"s feet in their inadequate openwork silk and soft kid you knew that Two-eighteen"s lips would be carmined.
She came down the corridor and stopped at Sadie Corn"s desk. Sadie Corn had her key ready for her. Two-eighteen took it daintily between white-gloved fingers.
"I"ll want a maid in fifteen minutes," she said. "Tell them to send me the one I had yesterday. The pretty one. She isn"t so clumsy as some."
Sadie Corn jotted down a note without looking up.
"Oh, Julia? Sorry--Julia"s busy," she lied.
Two-eighteen knew she lied, because at that moment there came round the bend in the broad, marble stairway that led up from the parlour floor the trim, slim figure of Julia herself.
Two-eighteen took a quick step forward. "Here, girl! I"ll want you to hook me in fifteen minutes," she said.
"Very well, ma"am," replied Julia softly.
There pa.s.sed between Sadie Corn and Two-eighteen a--well, you could hardly call it a look, it was so fleeting, so ephemeral; that electric, pregnant, meaning something that flashes between two women who dislike and understand each other. Then Two-eighteen was off down the hall to her room.
Julia stood at the head of the stairway just next to Sadie"s desk and watched Two-eighteen until the bend in the corridor hid her.
Julia, of the lady"s-maid staff, could never have qualified for the position of floor clerk, even if she had chosen to bury herself in lavender-and-white crocheted shawls to the tip of her marvellous little Greek nose. In her frilly white cap, her trim black gown, her immaculate collar and cuffs and ap.r.o.n, Julia looked distractingly like the young person who, in the old days of the furniture-dusting drama, was wont to inform you that it was two years since young master went away--all but her feet. The feather-duster person was addicted to French-heeled, beaded slippers. Not so Julia. Julia was on her feet for ten hours or so a day. When you subject your feet to ten-hour tortures you are apt to pa.s.s by French-heeled effects in favour of something flat-heeled, laced, with an easy, comfortable crack here and there at the sides, and stockings with white cotton soles.
Julia, at the head of the stairway, stood looking after Two-eighteen until the tail of her silken draperies had whisked round the corner.
Then, still staring, Julia spoke resentfully:
"Life for her is just one darned pair of long white kid gloves after another! Look at her! Why is it that kind of a face is always wearing the sables and diamonds?"
"Sables and diamonds," replied Sadie Corn, sniffing essence of peppermint, "seem a small enough reward for having to carry round a mug like that!"