THE EVENING STORY DOORKEEPER

Bay of Plenty Times, Volume LXVIII, Issue 13092, 20 July 1940, Page 3

THE EVENING STORY DOORKEEPER

It was his business to watch a door —but that didn’t stop him from watchingthe trouble that went through it

By Will M’Morrow. Carey felt a light sweat break out on his forehead. He had known all along it was going to be a narrow margin. When you are running off with another man’s wife—especially a man that has befriended you—you ought to give yourself more leeway than 10 minutes before he is due home from work. But that was Betty’s fault. The nitwit had to be persuaded and cajoled and then, at the last minute, she must write a note to stick on the apartment door for Stuart Driscoll. As if a note would soften it for him. -> And now this cluck of a doorman getting the elevator stuck in the shaft. God! What a spot to be in! And the little fool that got him in this jam whimpering alongside. “Get going, will you?” Carey turned a frightened snarl toward the moon-like face of the doorman. Get it started —somehow —and snappy! W ecan’t stay here! We can’t be stuck here like this! Do you understand, you blundering—” “I done my best, mister. I leave

it to Mrs. Driscoll here —I ain’t the elevator operator. What kin I do if the elevator breaks down? What I told you, the regular operator took sick an’ I took the call an’ now this thing goes blooey He yanked the control lever helplessly, bent a bald and shiny head over it as if listening for the tumblers of a locked safe. Carey looked at his wrist watch in an agony of fear and hatred. Hatred of Betty, who somehow, he felt was responsible. Why did she lead him into this? Hatred of this clod in uniform with his respectful, servant manner. Hatred of Stuart Driscoll who would be coming home now any minute to find his best friend and his wife caught ridiculously in a stalled elevator — God, what a mess! “Maybe somethin’ wrong in the motor-room in the basement.” “Get out of the way!” Carey shouldered him aside and grabbed the control, clanking it back and forth frantically. His voice broke into a whining falsetto. “Why doesn’t the darned thing work? We can’t stay hung up here!” Betty clutched his arm fearfully. “What can we do? Oh, Russell!” “Lay off me, will you?” He shook his arm free. “Ain’t no need to be scared, Mrs Driscoll,” the doorman nodded reassuringly. “Ain’t nothin’ dangerous. Won’t be only a few minutes till somebody’s bound to come along an’ they’ll get the super up here an’ get you out in a jiffy. Maybe Mr Driscoll will be cornin’ in soon. He’s due about this time.” Her sobbing breath was on Carey’s neck. “Do something Russell! Before he comes —before he finds my note and —then us—” “I’m thinking of my end now,” Carey swung toward the placid doorman. “I’ve got to get out of here right now! Some way! Any way—” The buzzer beside him cut with the abruptness of a warning rattler. “That’s him,” the doorman announced cheerily. “Ground floor, see? That’ll be Mr Driscoll. Now, we’ll be okay. If he don’t get no answer he’ll start walkin’ up to his apartment an’ we’ll hail him as he passes by—” “Get out of here!” Carey spluttered. “Get that door open ” The buzzer sounded again—twice —impatiently. “Sure, mister, if you wauta get out that bad. It’ll kinda muss your clothes up—Okay, then.” The doorman was maddeningly slow. He slid the elevator door ajar and, on his hands and knees, reached down pufflngly and unlatched the old-fash-ioned grill-work gate. We’re in be-

tween the floors, mister, an’ you’ll | have to squeeze through an’ let yourself drop to the corridor floor —” Carey was already crawling backward through the narrow space. “Russell!” The woman's hand seached fo rhim. “You’re not going to leave me —Russell!” He' vanished and his feet pattered on the tile. “Now, listen,” the dooman shook his head. “You don’t need to get worried, Mrs Driscoll. Soon’s they know the car is stuck —say! What d’ye know? That blamed switch” — the car lurched forward as he swung 1 the control—-“musta got stuck.” He stopped the car with a jerk. “Goin’ the wrong way. I told you I don’t know nothin’ about runnin’—” “Never mind,” she leaned, panting, against the side of the elevator, j “Let me out —here—anywhere.” I “Your floor right here, Mrs Dris- ' coll.” i Grabbing up her overnight bag, she waited for the door to open. “Say, Mrs Driscoll,” the doorman hesitated, “I—l hope you won’t say nothin’ about to-night—l mean about the dumb way I handled the elevator. You know the super would be sore.

“No—no,” She darted toward the white paper that was wedged beside the doorknob of her apartment. “It —doesn’t matter.” “Thanks, Mrs Driscoll.” The elevator dropped smoothly and came to a shuddering stop at the ground floor. Stuart Driscoll’s stooping, tired figure bulked in the opening. “Lo, Joe. Doing double duty tonight?” “Yes, Mr Driscoll. I let the operator off for a cup of coffee.” Driscoll handed him the heavy briefcase. “Wondered what was keeping you. Having trouble with the elevator?” “Me?” Joe scoffed. “Elevators is no mystery to me, Mr. Driscoll. ' I worked in the factory. ghat’s—where I got into that—trouble that time. You know.” “Come clean, Joe,” Driscoll grinned. “I’m your friend. You were having a quiet snooze somewhere.” Theelevator whirred softly upward. Joe’s faded, blue eyes were straight ahead on vacancy. “No, sir, A guy don’t sleep on'this job, Mr Driscoll. You know what it is, bein’ a doorman. It ain’t all whistlin’ for taxis an’ chasin’ dimes. When a guy’s a. doorman he’s gotta know

what’s goin’ on in his house. An’ he's gotta keep watchin’ the front door —like he was on guard, you know. Keepin’ the wrong guys out

—watchin’ the door so’s nobody don’t sneak by an’ walk off with what don’t belong to him. Gotta keep watchin’ the door, Mr Driscoll.”