Jump in an' ride wid me, he continued. Ah'll show you.
The morning ingress had begun. Brokers, lawyers, stenographers, office boys, were arriving in troops. Byron was amazed to observe the skill with which Joel operated the car, ready with a cheery good-morning for everybody that greeted him, while he slammed the iron gate back and forth at each landing, guiding the car dexterously to an exact level with each floor. All these mancuvres Byron, of course, had seen performed before, but with no comprehension of the difficulties they involved. Occasionally, as the hours wore on, the car would be deserted for a floor or two, and then Joel would permit the novice to manipulate the mechanism himself. Try as he might, however, Byron never seemed to be able to bring the elevator to a level with the landing. He began to regard Joel with a sneaking admiration.
At twelve o'clock Joel suggested, You better go an' git yo' lunch.
Where? Byron inquired. He was bewildered. He knew nothing about the restaurants in the neighbourhood. One might be too expensive; at another they might not admit a Negro.
Didn't you fetch none?
No, Byron replied. I didn't know. . . .
Well, Ah guess one o' duh boys'll give you a bite.
Joel dropped him off at the basement floor.
