"That's just w'ot I'm goin' to find out," he replied in a detached way.
Nan watched him while he poked indifferently about the engine, then sank back into her seat with a murmur of relief as he at last climbed once more into his place behind the wheel and the taxi got going again.
But almost before two minutes had elapsed there came another halt, followed by another lengthy examination of the engine's internals. Engine trouble spelt disaster, and Nan hopped out and joined the driver in the road.
"What's wrong?" she asked. She looked down anxiously at her wrist-watch.
"I shall miss my train at this rate."
"I cawn't 'elp it if you do," returned the man surlily. He was one of the many drivers who had taken advantage of a long-suffering public during the war-time scarcity of taxi-cabs and he hoped to continue the process during the peace. Incivility had become a confirmed habit with him.
"But I can't miss it!" declared Nan.
"And this 'ere taxi cawn't catch it."
"Do you mean you really can't get her to go?" asked Nan.
"'Aven't I just bin sayin' so?"—aggressively. "That's just 'ow it stands. She won't go."
He ignored Nan's exclamation of dismay and renewed his investigation of the engine.