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LAWTON.
“Ah, I don’t think that would do. Besides you’d have to get a carpenter.”

ROBERTS.
“That’s true. And it would make a racket, and alarm the house”–staring desperately at the grated doorway of the shaft. “If I could only find an elevator man–an elevator builder! But of course they all live in the suburbs, and they’re keeping Christmas, and it would take too long, anyway.”

BEMIS.
“Hadn’t you better send for the police? It seems to me it’s a case for the authorities.”

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?”