XII
A CLIENT FOR STEWART
Floyd returned one September from a short vacation in Canada with an unusual expectancy; one of Stewart Lee's infrequent letters had reached him just as he was setting out, and announced that he and Lydia would arrive in Avalon within the month. And no sooner had Floyd run through the accumulation of mail awaiting him than he closed his desk and went across the street to the new building in which Stewart had written that he had rented offices.
The elevator-boy dismissed him on the fourth floor, and he stood facing a door with the lettering—"Stewart Lee, Architect." He felt absurdly excited, and he flung the door open with the shout, "Hello, Stewart!" all ready on his lips. Then he stopped dismayed, for he found himself behind a little gate with only a boy in a long blouse sitting on a stool at a high table and looking at him.
"Is Mr. Lee in?" asked Floyd.
The boy got down from his stool. "What name, please?"
Floyd produced a card, and the boy disappeared into the adjoining room.
Floyd's excitement, momentarily dampened, rose again. And when he heard from within a well-known voice cry, "No, I'll show him in myself," he laughed aloud, kicked open the gate, and met Stewart on the threshold.
"Hurray!" cried Stewart, and "Well! Well!" said Floyd, and each seized the other's hand.
"Come in—'way in," Stewart said, dragging him. "Ferris, if anybody comes, I'm busy—too busy to see anybody, mind!"
