Merry-Go-Round
Spade rode down from Gutman’s floor in an elevator. His lips were dry and rough in a face otherwise pale and damp. When he took out his handkerchief to wipe his face he saw his hand trembling. He grinned at it and said, “Whew!” so loudly that the elevator-operator turned his head over his shoulder and asked: “Sir?”
Spade walked down Geary Street to the Palace Hotel, where he ate luncheon. His face had lost its pallor, his lips their dryness, and his hand its trembling by the time he had sat down. He ate hungrily without haste, and then went to Sid Wise’s office.
When Spade entered, Wise was biting a fingernail and staring at the window. He took his hand from his mouth, screwed his chair around to face Spade, and said: “ ’Lo. Push a chair up.”
Spade moved a chair to the side of the big paper-laden desk and sat down. “ Mrs. Archer come in?” he asked.
“Yes.” The faintest of lights flickered in Wise’s eyes. “Going to marry the lady, Sammy?”
Spade sighed irritably through his nose. “Christ, now you start that!” he grumbled.
A brief tired smile lifted the corners of the lawyer’s mouth. “If you don’t,” he said, “you’re going to have a job on your hands.”
Spade looked up from the cigarette he was making and spoke sourly: “You mean you are? Well, that’s what you’re for. What did she tell you?”