“Goss, Eddie,” Dick heard the boy say. “And don’t spare the horses!”
But Eddie, who Dick had earlier decided was the least attractive of the half-dozen drivers, was not losing any chances.
“Yes, sir! Parkinson School? Step right in. The gentleman inside won’t mind. What building, sir?”
“Sohmer,” answered Dick. And then, to the occupant: “Mind if I go along?” he asked. “This seems to be the only taxi left.”
“Not a bit. The more the merrier! Besides,” he continued as the car shot away from the platform with a jerk, wheeled suddenly to the left and dashed headlong over the cobbles, “it makes for economy. They put the fare up last spring. It would have cost me a half if I’d gone alone. By the way, are you in a great hurry?”
“Why, no,” answered Dick.
“Well, I am.” He leaned toward the open window in front. “Take me to Goss first, Eddie,” he directed.
He was a tall, rather thin and very long-legged youth with a nose that matched the other specifications, and a pair of blue-grey eyes that, in spite of their owner’s grave and serious expression, seemed to hold a twinkle of amusement or perhaps of mischief. He had placed a very battered suit-case before him on the floor of the car and now put his feet on it, settled to the small of his back and turned a look of polite inquiry on Dick.
“My name’s Quiggle,” he said, “Washington P. Quiggle.” He made a feeble motion toward a pocket. “I haven’t a card with me, I fear. I have, believe me, no desire to thrust my acquaintance on you, but since Fate has thrown us together like this——” He paused apologetically.
“That’s all right,” said Dick. “Very glad to meet you. My name is Bates.” He smiled. Rather to his surprise Washington Quiggle didn’t smile back. Instead, he put his head a bit on one side and seemed to regard Dick speculatingly.