“Four-wheeler, ma’am?”
“Eh! no—yes—yes.”
“Where to, ma’am?” asked the sympathetic porter, after the lady was seated in the cab.
“Where to?” echoed Mrs Milton, (for it was she), in great distress. “Oh! where—where shall I drive to?”
“Really, ma’am, I couldn’t say,” answered the porter, with a modest look.
“I’ve—I—my son! My dear boy! Where shall I go to inquire? Oh! what shall I do?”
These would have been perplexing utterances even to an unsympathetic man.
Turning away from the window, and looking up at the driver, the porter said solemnly—
“To the best ’otel you know of, cabby, that’s not too dear. An’ if you’ve bin gifted with compassion, cabby, don’t overcharge your fare.”
Accepting the direction, and exercising his discretion as well as his compassion, that intelligent cabby drove, strange to say, straight to an hotel styled the “Officers’ House,” which is an offshoot of Miss Robinson’s Institute, and stands close beside it!