hardwood—and he was going to be demanding about it.
“Floor?” Howard asked Fern. “Please?”
They were standing up now, brushing themselves off. Fern checked on the pony who, luckily, hadn’t gottencrushed. There was elevator music, something sleepy and tinkling. But it wasn’t very loud, and Fern and Howard could hear the gasps and muffled rantings of Dorathea, the Bone and the Drudgers overhead. Fern and Howard both looked up at the hatch, which had shut itself. Would the others find a way through to the elevator? Would they come after them?
“I think he wants to know what floor we want to go to,” Fern whispered urgently to Howard.
“How do we know what floor?” Howard whispered back. He pointed at the hatch. “We’ve got to get out of here!”
Fern turned to the elevator operator. “We’ve been invited. We’ve come, um, through an invitation.” She squinted at him, fearful that one of his buttons, trembling with pressure, might pop off and put out her eye.
The elevator operator glared at Fern, squinting away as she was. Evidently she wasn’t the first person to fear his buttons.
“I know why you’re doing that with your eyes. You think my buttons are going to blow! You think I’m too fat!” He let his fingers ruffle down the buttons. “Well, they do blow occasionally, but I fix them right up. I fix them right back into place.”
The voices above were growing louder, and clearer, too. She could hear them arguing. Howard’s and Fern’snames were being tossed around angrily. Howard paced in a small circle, The Art of Being Anybody gripped under his arm.
“Where are we?” Howard was saying, looking at the dirt on the other side of the glass panes. “I don’t understand. Are we underneath your bedroom? Are we downstairs? What’s with the dirt? It doesn’t make sense!”
The buttons were still irking Fern, however. She couldn’t help but mutter the obvious questions. “Why do you fix the buttons, sir, if you don’t mind me asking? Why don’t you just get a bigger vest?”
“Code!” the elevator operator barked, rearranging his cap, angrily and for no apparent reason; the cap was just fine. “I’m union! This vest is to code. They don’t come in bigger sizes. There’s a maximum weight, you know! Can’t take up too much weight! We’re not like umpires!” He sighed sadly. “Lucky umpires.”
Just then there was a bing , and the doors slid open, revealing an elderly woman with a wire laundry basket on wheels in an apartment hallway.
“What is this?” Howard said, befuddled. He shoved his head out of the elevator and glanced up and down the hall.
“Sorry, Mrs. Hershbaum,” the elevator operator said. “You’ll have to leave the laundry behind. Alreadygot two riders here, and as you know, I don’t like to take on extra weight!”
“But I’m going to do my laundry at Melvin’s! How can I leave my laundry behind?”
Melvin’s? Fern knew the name of the place. It was on the foldout map of the city beneath the city. “Are we going to the city beneath the city?” Fern asked.
The elevator operator didn’t answer Fern’s question. He answered a question no one had asked, and that was: Why are you so afraid of taking on extra weight? (Elevator limits are usually two thousand pounds or more, and this elevator really wasn’t close to that, even including Mrs. Hershbaum, a frail wisp of a woman, and her laundry.) “I had a bad elevator accident as a child,” the elevator operator explained. “Too many people. An overload. I survived but was deeply scarred. So—”
“You became an elevator operator,” said Mrs. Hershbaum wearily. “Shoulda gone into something closer to the ground!”
“Where’d she come from?” Howard popped his head back into the elevator and nearly screeched, “Is she underground? Is she in Dorathea’s boardinghouse? Where did this hallway come from?”
“Well, sure, I’d have liked to have been an engineer! Who wouldn’t? But I
“Floor?” Howard asked Fern. “Please?”
They were standing up now, brushing themselves off. Fern checked on the pony who, luckily, hadn’t gottencrushed. There was elevator music, something sleepy and tinkling. But it wasn’t very loud, and Fern and Howard could hear the gasps and muffled rantings of Dorathea, the Bone and the Drudgers overhead. Fern and Howard both looked up at the hatch, which had shut itself. Would the others find a way through to the elevator? Would they come after them?
“I think he wants to know what floor we want to go to,” Fern whispered urgently to Howard.
“How do we know what floor?” Howard whispered back. He pointed at the hatch. “We’ve got to get out of here!”
Fern turned to the elevator operator. “We’ve been invited. We’ve come, um, through an invitation.” She squinted at him, fearful that one of his buttons, trembling with pressure, might pop off and put out her eye.
The elevator operator glared at Fern, squinting away as she was. Evidently she wasn’t the first person to fear his buttons.
“I know why you’re doing that with your eyes. You think my buttons are going to blow! You think I’m too fat!” He let his fingers ruffle down the buttons. “Well, they do blow occasionally, but I fix them right up. I fix them right back into place.”
The voices above were growing louder, and clearer, too. She could hear them arguing. Howard’s and Fern’snames were being tossed around angrily. Howard paced in a small circle, The Art of Being Anybody gripped under his arm.
“Where are we?” Howard was saying, looking at the dirt on the other side of the glass panes. “I don’t understand. Are we underneath your bedroom? Are we downstairs? What’s with the dirt? It doesn’t make sense!”
The buttons were still irking Fern, however. She couldn’t help but mutter the obvious questions. “Why do you fix the buttons, sir, if you don’t mind me asking? Why don’t you just get a bigger vest?”
“Code!” the elevator operator barked, rearranging his cap, angrily and for no apparent reason; the cap was just fine. “I’m union! This vest is to code. They don’t come in bigger sizes. There’s a maximum weight, you know! Can’t take up too much weight! We’re not like umpires!” He sighed sadly. “Lucky umpires.”
Just then there was a bing , and the doors slid open, revealing an elderly woman with a wire laundry basket on wheels in an apartment hallway.
“What is this?” Howard said, befuddled. He shoved his head out of the elevator and glanced up and down the hall.
“Sorry, Mrs. Hershbaum,” the elevator operator said. “You’ll have to leave the laundry behind. Alreadygot two riders here, and as you know, I don’t like to take on extra weight!”
“But I’m going to do my laundry at Melvin’s! How can I leave my laundry behind?”
Melvin’s? Fern knew the name of the place. It was on the foldout map of the city beneath the city. “Are we going to the city beneath the city?” Fern asked.
The elevator operator didn’t answer Fern’s question. He answered a question no one had asked, and that was: Why are you so afraid of taking on extra weight? (Elevator limits are usually two thousand pounds or more, and this elevator really wasn’t close to that, even including Mrs. Hershbaum, a frail wisp of a woman, and her laundry.) “I had a bad elevator accident as a child,” the elevator operator explained. “Too many people. An overload. I survived but was deeply scarred. So—”
“You became an elevator operator,” said Mrs. Hershbaum wearily. “Shoulda gone into something closer to the ground!”
“Where’d she come from?” Howard popped his head back into the elevator and nearly screeched, “Is she underground? Is she in Dorathea’s boardinghouse? Where did this hallway come from?”
“Well, sure, I’d have liked to have been an engineer! Who wouldn’t? But I
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