"Suit yourself," said Greg marching into the house in a rage.
Fortunately for his much-tried temper it was not long before Hickey returned. Hearing the "machine-gun" come in, Greg went out into the yard and found the two chauffeurs in talk.
"I can't make out what he's driving at," said Hickey scratching his head.
"Let him tell me," said Greg. "First tell him that this is my cab."
Hickey did so. The other driver was not in the least abashed. Indeed he plumed himself more than ever on his astuteness.
"I drive for the New York Western cab service," he said. "They keep a sharp tab on us fellows and the gas we use, and I couldn't get down here until I was off duty. This morning at the Terminal three ladies engaged me: that is they was four in the party but one was a servant——"
Greg's heart began to beat.
"Old Spanish-looking dame and two pippins, black-head and red-head. Say, red-head was a little queen she was, with a little green hat and a whole grizzly bear around her neck, I guess it was——"
"Never mind her description," said Greg impatiently. "We know her. Get ahead!"
It only had the result of delaying the story still further. "Say, who's telling this, you or me?" burst out the irritable one. "I ain't telling it for your pleasure anyway, but for her that sent me. What if I do drive a taxi-cab, when I'm off duty I'm as good a man as any."