Hard as Nails

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Gilbert E. Best was as full of dynamic energy as a busy coffee percolator. He started out of the elevator before the door was more than half open, pounded his way down the flagged floor of the skyscraper hallway, not as a man who is in a frantic rush, but as one who is so filled with surplus energy that he finds an outlet in pounding the floor with his feet.

He walked past six doors marked, each with the legend on the square of frosted glass which fronted the hallway, Frank C. Dillon — Attorney At Lam — Private. The seventh door was lettered, Frank C. Dillon — Attorney At Lam — Office Hours 10:00 to 12:00 — 2:00 to 4:30 — Entrance.

Best’s broad shoulders swung in a pivot from the waist. He used enough force in opening the office door to have moved the steel door of a vault, and came to a stop before a reception desk.

A pair of blue eyes that looked up with listless boredom from behind a telephone switchboard on which was a brass sign marked, Information, suddenly sparkled to life. “Hello, Gil.”

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