“You’ve grown stouter, Tom; you’re the picture of health.”
Tom, slapping his chest complacently, came in collision with an enormous truck. He let out a stream of oaths, which paralyzed the physically inferior opponent. The poor devil cranked frantically and got out of his way.
“It was your fault, Tom, not his.”
“Of course it was, but that alien wouldn’t dare open his mouth to a free-born American. If he tried it on, they’d wipe him out.”
Tom spoke with a rich Irish inherited brogue, which all his college education hadn’t eradicated.
“We were talking about me, weren’t we?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve gained thirty pounds, I eat like a hog, and I’m for Prohibition every time. At first I worried myself to bones about Maudy. I was afraid to tell her I was hacking. Her family’s a hundred per cent American and she’s damn proud. When I brought home money she wouldn’t take it—‘You’re on the crook, Tom, and I’m going to leave you.’ Then I blurted it all out. I was frightened stiff—what do you think she did?”
“Haven’t any idea, Tom—abused you roundly for a piker?”
“Na—she just hugged me till I didn’t have a breath left. ‘Tom,’ she said, ‘I’ve cried many a long night. I couldn’t see you making a living. God is good; He wouldn’t let me go begging to my rich friends. Hacking’s a fine business, but there’s something against it—those flappers. Don’t take ’em in your car; sooner lose a fare. You’re good looking and they’ll get you.’”