Almost unconsciously, we directed our steps towards the Amalgamated
Oil Company's office. Here we learned that Leveson was in town, and
that Uncle Jap had called to see him.
"Did he see him?" Mrs. Panel's voice quavered.
"No," the clerk answered curtly; then he added: "Nobody sees the boss
without an appointment. We told Mr. Panel to call to-morrow."
If the clerk had spoken with tongues of angels Lily could not have
assumed a more seraphic expression.
"An' where is he now?" she asked.
"Your husband, ma'am? I can't tell you."
"I mean Mr. Leveson."
"He's in there," the private room was indicated, "and up to his eyes
in work. He won't quit till he goes to dinner at the Paloma. D'ye hear
the typewriters clicking? He makes things hum when he's here, and
don't you forget it."
"I shall never forget that," said Mrs. Panel, in an accent which made
me remember that her grandfather had been a graduate of Harvard
University. "Good-afternoon."
We walked on down the street. Suddenly, Mrs. Panel staggered, and
might have fallen had I not firmly grasped her arm.
"I dunno' what ails me," she muttered.
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