“What do you mean?” demanded Johnny.
“No offence, miss,” answered the man. “We was all young once.”
Johnny climbed in. At the corner of Queen Street and Lincoln’s Inn Fields, Johnny got out. Johnny, who had been pondering other matters, put his hand instinctively to where, speaking generally, his pocket should have been; then recollected himself.
“Let me see, did I think to bring any money out with me, or did I not?” mused Johnny, as he stood upon the kerb.
“Look in the ridicule, miss,” suggested the cabman.
Johnny looked. It was empty.
“Perhaps I put it in my pocket,” thought Johnny.
The cabman hitched his reins to the whip-socket and leant back.
“It’s somewhere about here, I know, I saw it,” Johnny told himself. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” Johnny added aloud to the cabman.
“Don’t you worry about that, miss,” replied the cabman civilly; “we are used to it. A shilling a quarter of an hour is what we charge.”