A Coat of Red Lead by Francis Hopkinson Smith

I

My offices are on the top floor of a high building overlooking the East River and the harbor beyond -- not one of those skyscrapers punctured with windows all of the same size, looking from a distance like huge waffles set up on end -- note the water-line of New York the next time you cross the ferry and see if you don't find the waffles -- but an old-fashioned sort of a high building of twenty years ago -- old as the Pyramids now, with a friendly janitor who comes to me when I send for him instead of my going to his "Office" when he sends for me; friendly elevator boys who poke their heads from out their iron cages and wait five seconds until I reach them, and an obliging landlord who lets me use his telephone.