“Now, what’s all this?” asked the policeman reproachfully. “This won’t do, you know!”
Mr. Donalds managed to convince the officer that his presence was perfectly legitimate; but the incident disturbed him. He felt himself an outcast from society. He no longer relished the “hot dog,” but he finished it.
Then he was assailed by a fearful thirst, and there is no knowing what might have happened next, if the elusive Wickey had not appeared.
“There he is!” cried Mr. Donalds’s driver. “Hey, Wickey! Come here!”
Wickey approached.
“Yes,” he said, in answer to Mr. Donalds’s questions. “I took ’em out to a place on the Boston Post Road—long run. I jest got back—empty to City Island; then I picked up a fare.”
“Take me to the place where you left the woman,” said Mr. Donalds.
“Sorry, sir,” said Wickey, “but I can’t afford to take the chance of comin’ back empty.”
“Oh, I’ll pay!” shouted Mr. Donalds. “Don’t waste any more time!”