Shuey was tugging at the wire rope. He called, in tones that seemed to come from a panting chest: “Take a pull at it yourself, sir! Can you move it?” Armorer grasped the rope viciously; Shuey was on the seat pulling from above. “We're stuck, sir, fast!” “Can't you get down either?” “Divil a bit, saving your presence, sir. Do ye think like the water-works could be busted?” “Can't you make somebody hear?” panted Armorer. “Well, you see there's a deal of noise of the machinery,” said Shuey, scratching his chin with a thoughtful air, “and they expect we've gone up!” “Best try, anyhow. This infernal machine may take a notion to drop!” said Armorer. “And that's true, too,” acquiesced Shuey. Forthwith he did lift up his voice in a loud wailing: “OH--H, Jimmy! OH--H, Jimmy Ryan!” Jimmy might have been in Chicago for any response he made; though Armorer shouted with Shuey; and at every pause the whir of the machinery mocked the shouters. Indescribable moans and gurgles, with a continuous malignant hiss, floated up to them from the rebel steam below, as from a volcano considering eruption. “They'll be bound to need the elevator some time, if they don't need US, and that's one comfort!” said Shuey, philosophically. “Don't you think if we pulled on her we could get her up to the next floor, by degrees? Now then!” Armorer gave a dash and Shuey let out his muscles in a giant tug. The elevator responded by an astonishing leap that carried them past three or four floors! “Stop her! stop her!” bawled Shuey; but in spite of Armorer's pulling himself purple in the face, the elevator did not stop until it bumped with a crash against the joists of the roof. “Well, do you suppose we're stuck HERE?” growled Armorer. “Well, sir, I'll try. Say, don't be exerting yourself violent. It strikes me she's for all the world like the wimmen,--in exthremes, sir, in exthremes! And it wouldn't be noways so pleasant to go riproaring that gait down cellar! Slow and easy, sir, let me manage her. Hi! she's working.” In fact, by slow degrees and much puffing, Shuey got the erratic box to the next floor, where, disregarding Shuey's protestations that he could “make her mind,” Mr. Armorer got out, and they left the elevator to its fate. It was a long way, through many rooms, downstairs. Shuey would have beguiled the way by describing the rooms, but Armorer was in a raging hurry and urged his guide over the ground. Once they were delayed by a bundle of stuff in front of a door; and after Shuey had laboriously rolled the great roll away, he made a misstep and tumbled over, rolling it back, to a tittering accompaniment from the sewing-girls in the room. But he picked himself up in perfect good temper and kicked the roll ten yards. “Girls is silly things,” said the philosopher Shuey, “but being born that way it ain't to be expected otherwise!”