"My—my—breakfast, I guess. Can you stop the car?"
"Do you mean you want to get out right here?"
"Yes. I'm dizzy. If I can get some air—"
"Not going to faint away, are you?" queried the Scotchman in consternation.
"I—no—I—guess not."
The kind old clockmaker slipped an arm about his shoulders.
"We'll get out at the next stop, sonny. Too bad you feel mean. It's probably the lurching and bumping of this infernal vehicle. You'll be all right when you get outside."
Without attracting anything more than passing notice, they found themselves in the street and saw the bus disappear down the avenue.
"Feel better?" interrogated McPhearson, anxiously.
"I'm all right. There's not a thing the matter with me. The trouble is that the man opposite us was the chap who pinched that ring from Hollings."