Down at Fifty-ninth, what does her driver do but swing into Fifth Avenue, right in the thick of it. That was no bonehead play either, for if there's any one stretch in town where you can let out absolutely reckless and get a medal for it, that's the place. Course, you got to take it in short spurts when you get the "go" signal, and that's what he was doin'. I watched him wipe both ends of a green motor bus and squeeze into a space that didn't look big enough for a baby carriage.
"Auntie must be biddin' up on the results, too," I remarks to Mr. Ellins. "There they duck through Forty-third."
"Try Forty-fourth," sings out Old Hickory. "In here!"
It was a poor guess, for when we hits Sixth Avenue there's no yellow taxi in sight.
"Wouldn't Auntie's game be to double back home?" I suggests.
"We'll see," says Old Hickory, and gives the order to beat it uptown again.
And, sure enough, just as we gets in sight of the apartment house, there's the other taxi, with Auntie haulin' Captain Killam out hasty. Before we can dash up and pile out, they've disappeared in the vestibule.
"Looks like we'd lost out by a nose," says I.
"Not yet," says Old Hickory. "I intend to see what those two mean by this."
And after 'em we rushes.