Fred gave the number on Madison Avenue.
"Mr. John Wainwrignt lives there," said the hackman. "I sometimes drive him up from Wall Street."
"That is the place. This is his uncle."
The hackman touched his hat respectfully to the old gentleman, whom he had at first mentally styled a rusty old codger. His relationship to the wealthy broker gave him dignity in the eyes of the driver.
"Won't you get in too?" asked the old gentleman who had come to rely upon Fred as his guardian.
"Certainly, sir."
"I shall feel safer. I am a perfect stranger to the city."
He leaned back in the seat and partially closed his eyes.
The hack rattled through the streets and in due time reached its destination.
The hackman opened the door of the cab and Fred assisted the old gentleman to alight.