“How this trap rattles!” shouted Gerry. “One can hardly hear oneself speak. But with regard to Miss Speranza——”
“I suppose the pith of the matter is—you are in love with her?” shrieked the little woman.
“Madly!” bellowed Gerry. “Been so for weeks. Hold up, you brute!” This to the cab-horse, a dilapidated equine wreck, which had stumbled.
“Oh, you boys! You’re all alike!” cried his companion.
“Mine is a man’s love,” roared Gerry. “I would lay the world at her feet, if I had it; and I want you to tell her so.” The rattling of the crazy cab nearly drowned his accents. “Oh! what do you think she will say?” he bellowed, his lips close to the little woman’s ear.
“She would say—Oh! do you think this man is sober?” screamed the little woman. “I mean the driver,” she added, meeting Gerry’s indignant glare.
“I don’t think he is too drunk to drive,” yelled Gerry. “Tell me, if you have a heart,” he howled, “have I any chance with her?”
“Ah! we’re off the cobblestones now!” said his companion, leaning back with an air of relief.
“And you can answer my question,” pressed Gerry. “I—I needn’t explain my views are honorable—straight as a fellow’s can be. Love like mine is——”
“So dreadfully greasy!” commented his companion anxiously, as the debilitated steed recovered himself with difficulty at the end of a long slide.