to face that mob," murmured Bob, but some one heard him.
"You're among friends, bub," a man called. "Keep up a stout heart."
There was a general laugh, and some one was dispatched to get a file. Ten minutes' work with this, and the stubborn catch was filed through, the gates slid back and those behind them found themselves once more on good solid mosaic tiling.
Bob's employer came up to him, and was presented to the girls. He was a pleasant, prosperous-looking man, middle-aged, and evidently fond of Bob. He immediately offered him the rest of the day off, insisting that after such an experience he should rest quietly for a few hours.
"By the way," he remarked sotto voce, "those two young men over there at the head of the stairs are newspaper reporters. One has a camera. I imagine they want to get a story on your morning's sensations."
Bob had not yet met Mr. Littell, but he had a lively idea of what that gentleman might say should he find his daughters' pictures spread over the first page of the evening papers, accompanied by a more or less accurate analysis of their emotions during the trying period through which they had just passed.
"Whisk us into your office, can't you, Mr. Derby?" he urged. "They're stopping people as
