“Your quarters are somewhat limited, Mr.—er—er,” remarked Dabster, “in comparison with the size of this building. I understand the area of its side to be about 340 by 100 feet. That would make you occupy a proportionate space as if half of Beloochistan were placed upon a territory as large as the United States east of the Rock Mountains, with the Province of Ontario and Belgium added.”
“Is that so, sport?” said Joe, genially. “You are Weisenheimer on figures, all right. How many square pounds of baled hay do you think a jackass could eat if he stopped brayin’ long enough to keep still a minute and five eighths?”
A few minutes later Daisy and Mr. Dabster stepped from an elevator to the top floor of the skyscraper. Then up a short, steep stairway and out upon the roof. Dabster led her to the parapet so she could look down at the black dots moving in the street below.
“What are they?” she asked, trembling. She had never been on a height like this before.
And then Dabster must needs play the philosopher on the tower, and conduct her soul forth to meet the immensity of space.
“Bipeds,” he said, solemnly. “See what they become even at the small elevation of 340 feet—mere crawling insects going to and fro at random.”
“Oh, they ain’t anything of the kind,” exclaimed Daisy,
