At last the clop-clop-clop of a horse's hoofs sounded close by, and an unshaven man in an ancient high hat steered a four-wheeler to the curb, barking: "Keb, keb!"
Bob lurched forward and laid a hand upon the driver's knee. "Very man
I'm lookin' for." The hiccup that followed was by no means intentional.
"Yes, sir. Where to, sir?"
But Bob shook his head vigorously and waved a comprehensive gesture toward the west. "Got a party of my own back yonder—everybody soused but me—understand? I'm the only sober one, so I'm goin' to drive 'em home, see? How much?"
"How much for what?" demanded the cabman.
"For the cab—one hour. I'll bring it back."
"Nothin' doin'! I'll take you where you want to go."
"Sorry. Mus' have my little joke, no matter what it costs. Next cabby'll do it."
Nothing except Bob's personal appearance prevented the driver from whipping up without more ado, but a shiny top-hat, an immaculate expanse of shirt-bosom, and silken waistcoat, especially when linked with a spend-thrift air, command respect from the cab-driving brotherhood. The night was old—and these jokers sometimes pay well, the man reflected.
"How'd I know you'd bring it back?" he inquired.