“Sure,” he said, reaching out his hand, “you get off.”
“West Forty-fourth,” I said, saying the first thing that came into my mind. “And step on it.” As the cab shot away I sank back between Lydia and the dummy and drew a deep breath of relief. Even when Lydia began to wriggle violently and let off a few grunts I couldn’t care less.
“That’s some cucumber you’ve been eating,” the driver said chattily. “Yes, sir, your grocer sure must have an uneasy conscience.”
I put my hand over Lydia’s mouth.
“If you don’t shut up,” I said to her fiercely, “I’ll strangle you.”
The car lurched and the driver said, “Was you talking to me?”
“Don’t be a dope, I can talk to my stomach if I like, can’t I?” I returned, squeezing Lydia’s face between my fingers.
“I wish you wouldn’t, mister,” the driver pleaded. “It makes me kind of nervous. Besides, you don’t strangle stomachs, you kick ’em or you poison ’em, but you don’t strangle ’em.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” I returned, wiping the sweat of my face with my free hand, “Thanks, pal, I’ll know next time.”
“You’re welcome,” the driver returned airily, “It’s guys who use their brains that get places.”