Then they were off, and the Trans-Atlantic cousins were banged against one another as the cab whirled round in a sharp semicircle.
"Say!" cried the American, "this reminds one of home. I've been here a week, an' had a kind of notion that London air was half fog, half dope. But you're awake all right. Bet you a five spot you're after a girl!"
"I pay," said Theydon, his eyes glistening. "And such a girl! Her portrait on the paper wrap of a 50-cent novel would sell it in millions!"
"Gee whiz! Is it like that? Go right ahead, Augustus! Never mind me. Take this old bus all the way to Paris. I'll find the fares and hold your hat. But kindly shift that gun into your opposite pocket. You've dug it into my thigh quite often enough. If you want to get first drop on the other fellow, shove it up your sleeve!"
CHAPTER IX
SHARP WORK
The American's easy-going badinage provided the best sort of tonic. Theydon laughed as he transferred the pistol from one pocket to the other.
"My motto is 'Defense, not Defiance,'" he said. "I hope sincerely that I shall not be called on to shoot, or even threaten any one. Using firearms, although for self-protection, is a very serious matter in this country. May I ask your name? Mine's Theydon. I live in those mansions we have just quitted."
"And I'm George T. Handyside, 21,097 Park Avenue, Chicago," was the answer.
"Is that your telephone number?"
"No, sir. It's my home address."