ndred offices, or
waiting to surge into one of the twelve elevators--those packed vertical
railroads. A whole village life in the hallway of the Zodiac Building:
the imperial elevator-starter in a uniform of blue and gold, and merely
regal elevator-runners with less gold and more faded blue; the oldest of
the elevator-boys, Harry, the Greek, who knew everybody in the building;
the cigar-stand, with piles of cigarettes, cans of advertised tobacco,
maple fudge wrapped in tinfoil, stamps, and even a few cigars, also the
keeper thereof, an Italian with an air of swounding romance. More
romantic Italians in the glass-inclosed barber-shop--Desperate Desmond
devils, with white coats like undress uniforms, and mustaches that
recalled the Riviera and baccarat and a secret-service count; the two
manicure-girls of the barber-shop, princesses reigning among admirers
from the offices up-stairs; janitors, with brooms, and charwomen with
pails, and a red, sarcastic man, the engineer, and a meek puppet who was
merely the superintendent of the whole thing.... Una watched these
village people, to whom the Zodiac hall was Main Street, and in their
satisfied conformation to a life of marble floors and artificial light
she found such settled existence as made her feel at home in this town,
with its eighteen strata called floors. She, too, at least during the
best hours of the day, lived in the Zodiac Building's microcosm.

And to her office penetrated the ever flowing crowds--salesmen, buyers
of real estate, inquirers, persons who seemed to have as a hobby the
collection of real-estate folders. Indeed, her most important task was
the strategy of "handling callers"--the callers who came to see Mr.
Truax himself, and were passed on to Una by the hall-girl. To the clever
secretary the management of callers becomes a question of scientific
tactics, and Una was clever at it because she liked people.

She had to recognize the type of awkward shabby visitor who looks like a
beggar, but has in his pocket the cash for investment in lots. And the
insinuating caller, with tailor-made garments and a smart tie, who
presents himself as one who yearns to do a good turn to his dear, dear
personal friend, Mr. D. T. Truax, but proves to be an insurance-agent or
a salesman of adding-machines. She had to send away the women with
high-pitched voices and purely imaginary business, who came in for
nothing whatever, and were willing to spend all of their own time