With a clatter of wheels and cans and hoofs a milkman’s wagon and team came out of the hills. Davidge stepped down from the car and stopped the loud-voiced, wide-mouthed driver with a gesture. He spoke in a low voice which the milkman did not copy. The taxi-driver woke to the extent of one eye and a horrible yawn, while Davidge explained his plight.
“Gasolene gave out, hey?” said the milkman.
“It certainly did,” said Davidge, “and I’d be very much obliged if you’d get me some more.”
“Wa-all, I’m purty busy.”
“I’ll pay you anything you ask.”
The milkman was modest in his ambitions.
“How’d two dollars strike ye?”
“Five would be better if you hurried.”
This looked suspicious, but the milkman consented.
“Wa-all, all right, but what would I fetch the gasolene in?”