Helen was thoroughly scared now, but her good sense told her that to obey the driver’s advice was the best thing she could do.
And sure enough, after a time, with the help of policemen and others, the horse was somehow again on his feet and apparently uninjured.
“Now we’re off,” the cheery driver called down. “It’s a terrible storm, but I can get you there, if we go slowly.”
“Go slowly, then,” Helen answered, greatly reassured by his honest, kindly accents, “but do get there!”
So they went on, now merely crawling, as the poor horse cautiously picked his steps, and now stopping altogether, as the traffic forced them to.
Helen’s watch had stopped, because she had forgotten to wind it. They passed few pedestal clocks, and those she could not see for the whirling flakes. She wanted to ask the driver how late it was getting, but couldn’t make him hear.
So they kept on, and at last the cab drew up to a curb and the driver got down.
“Well, Miss,” he said, “you was lucky to have me,—you sure was! For, I see you was young and didn’t know New York at all hardly. And I’m mighty glad to get you here without any broken bones,—I am that!”
Helen appreciated his solicitude for her welfare, and though she well knew it was, in part, a hint for a goodly fee above his regular fare, she felt that he deserved it.
She paid him generously, and bade him good night with courteous thanks.