In the far corner of the lift, the emotional Jules was sobbing silently into the bunch of cotton-waste which served him in the office of a pocket-handkerchief. His broken-hearted gulps echoed hollowly down the shaft. 5 In these days of cheap books of instruction on every subject under the sun, we most of us know how to behave in the majority of life's little crises. We have only ourselves to blame if we are ignorant of what to do before the doctor comes, of how to make a dainty winter coat for baby out of father's last year's under-vest and of the best method of coping with the cold mutton. But nobody yet has come forward with practical advice as to the correct method of behaviour to be adopted when a lift-attendant starts crying. And Sally and her companion, as a consequence, for a few moments merely stared at each other helplessly. “Poor darling!” said Sally, finding speech. “Ask him what's the matter.” The young man looked at her doubtfully. “You know,” he said, “I don't enjoy chatting with this blighter. I mean to say, it's a bit of an effort. I don't know why it is, but talking French always makes me feel as if my nose were coming off. Couldn't we just leave him to have his cry out by himself?” “The idea!” said Sally. “Have you no heart? Are you one of those fiends in human shape?” He turned reluctantly to Jules, and paused to overhaul his vocabulary. “You ought to be thankful for this chance,” said Sally. “It's the only real way of learning French, and you're getting a lesson for nothing. What did he say then?” “Something about losing something, it seemed to me. I thought I caught the word perdu.” “But that means a partridge, doesn't it? I'm sure I've seen it on the menus.” “Would he talk about partridges at a time like this?” “He might. The French are extraordinary people.” “Well, I'll have another go at him. But he's a difficult chap to chat with. If you give him the least encouragement, he sort of goes off like a rocket.” He addressed another question to the sufferer, and listened attentively to the voluble reply. “Oh!” he said with sudden enlightenment. “Your job?” He turned to Sally. “I got it that time,” he said. “The trouble is, he says, that if we yell and rouse the house, we'll get out all right, but he will lose his job, because this is the second time this sort of thing has happened, and they warned him last time that once more would mean the push.” “Then we mustn't dream of yelling,” said Sally, decidedly. “It means a pretty long wait, you know. As far as I can gather, there's just a chance of somebody else coming in later, in which case he could let us out. But it's doubtful. He rather thinks that everybody has gone to roost.” “Well, we must try it. I wouldn't think of losing the poor man his job. Tell him to take the car down to the ground-floor, and then we'll just sit and amuse ourselves till something happens. We've lots to talk about. We can tell each other the story of our lives.”