"Suppose we circle the block once or twice, while I tear off a few Sherlock Holmes thoughts?" says I.
Mr. Ellins sniffs scornful; but he'd gone the limit himself, so he gives the directions. I leaned back, shut my eyes, and tried to guess how a foxy old guy like Nash would fix it up so he could do the unseen duck off Broadway into his private office. Was it a tunnel from the subway through the boiler basement, or a bridge from the next skyscraper, or—— But the sight of a blue cap made me ditch this dream stuff. Funny I hadn't thought of that line before—and me an A. D. T. once myself!
"Hey, you!" I calls out the window. "Wait up, Cabby, while we take on a passenger. Yes, you, Skinny. Hop in here. Ah, what for would we be kidnappin' a remnant like you? It's your birthday, ain't it? And the gentleman here has a present for you—a whole dollar. Eh, Mr. Ellins?"
Old Hickory looks sort of puzzled; but he forks out the singleton, and the messenger climbs in after it. A chunky, round-faced kid he was too. I pushed him into one of the foldin' front seats and proceeds to apply the pump.
"What station do you run from, Sport?" says I.
"Number six," says he.
"Oh, yes," says I. "Just back of the Exchange. And is old Connolly chief down there still?"
"Yes, Sir," says he.
"Give him my regards when you get back," says I, "and tell him Torchy says he's a flivver."
The kid grins enthusiastic.