The osteopathic specialist’s secretary and the young broker in neighboring twelfth-floor offices.
She’s canned for want of custom, he finds her weeping at her desk beneath the ruins of the Colosseum in a photograph on the wall, he drums up business.
And then, by a foolish misapprehension, he becomes convinced she loves another.
Poison, letter-spike, gas, leap, gun, how shall he do away with himself for love?
By a foolish misadventure, he flounders about on the beams of a new skyscraper going up across the street.
Back on the ground, enlightened, he nearly goes up again with his betrothed, but thinks better of it.