The Englishman's voice was querulous again.
"I say, pawtah, open a window, will you? The air is ghastly, abso-ripping-lutely ghastly."
The Yankee growled:
"No wonder we had the Revolutionary War!"
Then he took from his pocket an envelope addressed to Ira Lathrop & Co., and from the envelope he took a contract, and studied it grimly. The envelope bore a Chinese stamp.
The porter, as he struggled with an obstinate window, wondered what sort of passenger fate would send him next.
CHAPTER III
IN DARKEST CHICAGO
The castaways from the wrecked taxicab hurried along the doleful street. Both of them knew their Chicago, but this part of it was not their Chicago.
They hailed a pedestrian, to ask where the nearest street car line might be, and whither it might run. He answered indistinctly from a discreet distance, as he hastened away. Perhaps he thought their question merely a footpad's introduction to a sandbagging episode. In Chicago at night one never knows.
"As near as I can make out what he said, Marjorie," the lieutenant pondered aloud, "we walk straight ahead till we come to Umtyump Street, and there we find a Rarara car that will take us to Bloptyblop Avenue. I never heard of any such streets, did you?"