Identifier: saturdayeveningp1933unse (find matches)
Title: The Saturday evening post
Year: 1839 (1830s)
Authors:
Subjects:
Publisher: Philadelphia : G. Graham
Contributing Library: University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign
Digitizing Sponsor: University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign

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ut snatched off in the amaze of the moment, and so stoodfor some seconds, one hand absurdly pressed on the crownof his hat, the other hugging his papers to his waistcoat,while about him the offices spouted forth their people tothe hall, and from the boulevard without the gendarmescame thrusting through the gathering crowd. There was agabble of talk and exclamation that dazed him; and pres-ently he was aware that the voice that had screamed wasscreaming still, but faintly, as though it sounded at animmense distance. He shuddered and turned back to theoffices he had just left. From their doorway he was able to watch, when thegendarmes had cleared the hall, the work of salvage. Hewho had screamed was the lift attendant; the wreck ofhirn was packed swiftly and deftly to the waiting ambu-lance. There followed an injured passenger, who squeakedfeebly when the bearers raised him; and then there wasbrought forth a shape which made no sound at all. They ILLUSTRATED Br ARTHUR Wi L Li Jt M BROWS
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But Between Ourselves, He Asked Briskly, What Have You Done With the Money? laid it on a sheet on the floor of the hall and the white-claddoctor knelt beside it in silence. Only the hall porter,peering fearfully, broke out suddenly. Tiens! he exclaimed. It is the Englishman whocomes here sometimes. He has a friend in the office on thefifth floor. You know his name? demanded an inspector of police.Mr. Mailing had caught the word Englishman, andwhile the porter was stating his ignorance and volunteeringto seek the friend on the fifth floor he came forward. Hishat was securely on his head now and his papers were in hispocket; he was again his responsible, capable, middle-aged self. You said he was an Englishman? he inquired.The white-clad doctor had risen; the whole group turnedto Mr. Mailing as he spoke. His appearance, no less thanhis French, proclaimed his nationality. A gendarmesaluted him. Mais si! asseverated the rJbrter. He has bee*here many times. Let me see him, said Mr. Mailing

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