_Lawton_: “Ah, there speaks the Europeanized mind! They always leave the initiative to the authorities. Go out and sound the fire-alarm, Roberts. It’s a case for the Fire Department.” _Roberts_: “Oh, it’s all very well to joke, Dr. Lawton. Why don’t you prescribe something?” _Lawton_: “Surgical treatment seems to be indicated, and I’m merely a general practitioner.” _Roberts_: “If Willis were only here, he’d find some way out of it. Well, I’ll have to go for help somewhere”— _Mrs. Roberts_ and _Mrs. Miller_, bursting upon the scene: “Oh, what is it?” _Lawton_: “Ah, you needn’t go for help, my dear fellow. It’s come!” _Mrs. Roberts_: “What are you all doing here, Edward?” _Mrs. Miller_: “Oh, have you had any bad news of Mr. Miller?” _Mrs. Roberts_: “Or Aunt Mary?” _Miller_, calling up: “Well, are you going to keep us here all night? Why don’t you do something?” _Mrs. Miller_: “Oh, what’s that? Oh, it’s Mr. Miller! Oh, where are you, Ellery?” _Miller_: “In the elevator.” _Mrs. Miller_: “Oh! and where is the elevator? Why don’t you get out? Oh”— _Miller_: “It’s caught, and we can’t.” _Mrs. Miller_: “Caught? Oh, then you will be killed—killed—killed! And it’s all my fault, sending you back after my fan, and I had it all the time in my own pocket; and it comes from my habit of giving it to you to carry in your overcoat pocket, because it’s deep, and the fan can’t break. And of course I never thought of my own pocket, and I never _should_ have thought of it at all if Mr. Curwen hadn’t been going back to get Mrs. Curwen’s glove, for he’d brought another right after she’d sent him for a left, and we were all having such a laugh about it, and I just happened to put my hand on my pocket, and there I felt the fan. And oh, _what_ shall I do?” Mrs. Miller utters these explanations and self-reproaches in a lamentable voice, while crouching close to the grated door to the elevator shaft, and clinging to its meshes. _Miller_: “Well, well, it’s all right. I’ve got you another fan, here. Don’t be frightened.” _Mrs. Roberts_, wildly: “Where’s Aunt Mary, Edward? Has Willis got back?” At a guilty look from her husband: “Edward! _don’t_ tell me that _she’s_ in that elevator! Don’t do it, Edward! For your own sake don’t. Don’t tell me that your own child’s mother’s aunt is down there, suspended between heaven and earth like—like”— _Lawton_: “The coffin of the Prophet.” _Mrs. Roberts_: “Yes. _Don’t_ tell me, Edward! Spare your child’s mother, if you won’t spare your wife!” _Mrs. Crashaw_: “Agnes! don’t be ridiculous. I’m here, and I never was more comfortable in my life.” _Mrs. Roberts_, calling down the grating “Oh! Is it you, Aunt Mary?” _Mrs. Crashaw_: “Of course it is!” _Mrs. Roberts_: “You recognize my voice?” _Mrs. Crashaw_: “I should hope so, indeed! Why shouldn’t I?” _Mrs. Roberts_: “And you know me? Agnes? Oh!” _Mrs. Crashaw_: “Don’t be a goose, Agnes.”