All things come to those who wait, and Mr. Miller had not to wait long. A man strode suddenly out of the custom-house gate, thrust aside the Spanish porter who was snatching at his handbag, and made a beckoning motion towards a cab.
Mr. Miller strode quietly forward and reached it simultaneously with the fare.
The man looked at him with a sudden irritable alertness and then broke into a grin.
"You're here," he said, and flung his bag upon the seat. The other responded with a tiny shrug as if he deprecated the platitudinous nature of the remark. He motioned the man to take his seat, sat down beside him, and told the driver the name of an hotel. "Your man is looking after your heavy luggage?" he questioned.
The other nodded impatiently.
"Yes," he said. "Not that there's much to look after." He turned and glanced into his companion's face. "I'm getting down to bed-rock now; nothing left to waste on trivialities. I nearly came second class."
Miller's eyebrows rose.
"That would have been unnecessary." He speculated.
"Imbecile, as it turned out," agreed the man. "There were some bridge-playing Southerners on board, old school, couldn't bring themselves to be civil to the New Yorkers, but ready to take an Englishman, and a lord, moreover, to their hearts. No high play, but I'm eight hundred dollars up on the voyage."
Miller nodded placidly.