But through some oversight the suggestion remained temporarily in abeyance; and Joan was unlucky in that none of the policemen appeared, who are assigned to the business of keeping actors moving in that neighbourhood. After a minute or two Quard shifted his position so that he could, by simply lifting his eyes, have looked directly into the lobby. At this Joan turned in desperation and entered the cage of an elevator, which happened just then to be waiting with an open gate. There were several theatrical enterprises with offices on one of the upper floors: no reason why Joan shouldn't wait in one of these until it would be safe to venture forth again. There was Arlington's, for instance. Joan's was no strange figure there. She had long since made several attempts to see Arlington or one of his lieutenants; but her professional cards, borne in to them by a disillusioned office-boy, had educed no other response than "Mist' Arlington says they's nothin' doin' just' present." But it was as good a place as any for Joan's purpose, and there could be no harm trying again. The same world-weary boy received her card when she entered the suite of offices. He considered it, and Joan as well, dispassionately. "Whoja wanna see?" he mumbled with patent effort. Joan's prettiest smile was apparently wasted upon the temperament of an anchorite. "Mr. Arlington, please." The boy offered to return the card: "He ain't in." "That's what you always tell me." "He ain't never in." "Very well," said Joan sweetly: "I'll wait." The boy started to say something pointed, hesitated, regarded her with dull suspicion, and suddenly enquired: "Whaja wanna see 'm 'bout?" "A matter of private business." "Ah," drawled the boy with infinite disgust, "tha's what they all say!" An embittered grimace shaped upon his soiled face. "Lis'n!" he said, almost affably--"if yuh'll think up a good one, I'll fetch this inta his sec't'ry. Now cud anythin' be fairer 'n that?" "I'll go you," Joan retorted, falling in with his spirit. "Tell him a friend of Mr. Marbridge's wants to see him." She esteemed this a rather brilliant bit of diplomacy, and at the same time considered herself stupid not to have thought of it before. But it failed to move the office-boy. His head signalled a negative. "Havta do better'n that," he announced. "If I fell for ev'ry wren what claims she's a nintimate frien' of Mista Marbridge--" "But I am a friend of his--truly I am!" Joan insisted warmly. The boy rammed a hand into a trouser's-pocket. "Betcha--" he began; but reconsidered. "Yuh never can tell 'bout a skirt," he reminded himself audibly. "But, jus' to prove I'm a sport, I'll go yuh." Motioning Joan through the door of the reception room, he shambled off with an air of questioning his own sanity.