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Leacock, Stephen, 1869-1944

"Frenzied Fiction"


What's that? What's that boy shouting out--that boy with
the tray? A call for Mr. Something or Other--say, must
be something happened pretty serious! A call for Mr.--why,
that's for me! Hullo! _Here I am! Here, it's Me! Here I
am_--wanted at the desk? all right, I'm coming, I'm
hurrying. I guess something's wrong at home, eh! _Here
I am_. That's my name. I'm ready.
Oh, a room. You've got a room for me. All right. The
fifteenth floor! Good heavens! Away up there! Never mind,
I'll take it. Can't give me a bath? That's all right.
I had one.
Elevator over this way? All right, I'll come along.
Thanks, I can carry it. But I don't see any elevator?
Oh, this door in the wall? Well! I'm hanged. This the
elevator! It certainly has changed. The elevator that I
remember had a rope in the middle of it, and you pulled
the rope up as you went, wheezing and clanking all the
way to the fifth floor. But this looks a queer sort of
machine. How do you do--Oh, I beg your pardon. I was in
the road of the door, I guess. Excuse me, I'm afraid I
got in the way of your elbow. It's all right, you didn't
hurt--or, not bad.
Gee whiz! It goes fast. Are you sure you can stop it?
Better be careful, young man.


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