Angelica recalled something which had been mentioned in one of Mrs. Russell’s long stories.
"Look here!" she said. "It’s the law. You got to take passengers."
"Not outside the city limits I haven’t," said the man.
They were both a little uneasy, as neither of them felt at all sure as to what laws there might or might not be; but Angelica in her desperation was resourceful.
"You let me in," she said, "and I’ll fix it up with the people out there. See, I’ll give you two dollars now, but I won’t tell them I gave you anything, and they’ll pay you and give you a tip, too. I’m the waitress out there, and they’ll be darned glad to see me back. You didn’t ought to worry. You’d ought to know I wouldn’t risk getting locked up just for the sake of a ride. No one would take a chance like that."
"Well, they do, all the same," said the driver. "It wouldn’t do me no good to get you locked up—not if you didn’t have no money."
"It’s only people out on a joy ride that do that," said she. "Where’d be the sense in me doing that—taking a ride all alone and then getting locked up?"
He wavered, and she hurriedly got out the two dollars—earned by long hours of scrubbing by Mrs. Kennedy—and gave them to the chauffeur. He was now practically won; her insistence overcame his weak will, her two dollars charmed him. Moreover, he liked her, she was so frank and so much in earnest.
"All right," he said. "Get in! Now mind you treat me fair—I’m taking a big risk for you!"
She was a strange enough figure, sitting there in her dusty clothes, her battered old hat, while the cab sped on, through and out of the city, along dark country roads lined with trees, past fields, past marshes, past desolate buildings, past friendly lighted houses. She was consumed with a fever of haste, burning with anxiety, looking over the driver’s shoulders at the road before her, which seemed so endless.