“Dear gentleman, your pardon,” said he, “but are you not Mr. Edward Napier, the aeronaut?”
“No,” Ned answered him coldly. “My name is Lloyd Jenkins. I am a traveling shoe salesman.”
“My mistake, then,” laughed the stranger lightly. “Just to show that there’s no hard feelings, won’t you join me in a little drink down at the bar?”
“No, thank you,” the boy answered, “I never use intoxicating liquors,” and then, being already suspicious, brushed on past the stranger and out into the street.
The usual line of taxicabs lined the whole curb on both sides of Broadway for a block or more. As soon as Ned appeared there was a hoarse-voiced chorus of shouts:
“Taxi! Taxicab, sir? This way, sir! Taxicab?”
Several of the chauffeurs crowded around Ned, trying to persuade him to patronize them rather than their fellows. One driver, muffled deep in a fur-collared overcoat, even went so far as to lay his hand on the boy’s arm.
“I have a big, comfortable limousine car here,” he said. “Same price as those stuffy little taxis.”
Out of the corner of his eye Ned just then saw the persistent stranger of the theatre lobby coming out of the entrance towards him, and, not being anxious for any further acquaintance, the boy turned hastily to the chauffeur, saying:
“All right! Your limousine for me!”