"You've not been drinking, I trust?"
The Irishman shuffled. "Shure, sor, an' wud that be hosphitible?"
Laughing, Maitland bade him good night and left the house, turning west to gain Fifth Avenue, walking slowly because he was a little tired, and enjoying the rather unusual experience of being abroad at that hour without company. The sky seemed cleaner than ordinarily, the city quieter than ever he had known it, and in the air was a sweet smell, reminiscent of the country-side … reminding one unhappily of the previous night when one had gone whistling to one's destiny along a perfumed country road….
"Good 'eavings, Mister Maitland, sir! It carn't be you!"
Maitland looked up, bewildered for the instant. The voice that hailed him out of the sky was not unfamiliar….
A cab that he had waited on the corner to let pass, was reined back suddenly. The driver leaned down from the box and in a thunderstruck tone advertised his stupefaction.
"It aren't in nature, sir—if yer'll pardon my mentionin' it. But 'ere I leaves you not ten minutes ago at the St. Luke Building and finds yer 'ere, when you 'aven't 'ad time—"
Maitland woke up. "What's that?" he questioned sharply. "You left me where ten minutes—?"
"St. Luke Buildin', corner Broadway an'—."
"I know it," excited, "but—"