“What flavor do you want?”
“I... if it were good rye...” He leaned toward me and a look came into his eyes. Then he jerked back. His voice got harsh and not friendly at all. “Can’t you take a joke? I don’t drink when I’m driving. Is that woman hurt much?”
“I don’t think so, her head’s still on. The doctor’ll fix her up. Do you take her places often? Or her husband?”
He was still harsh. “I take her when she calls me, her husband too. I’m a taxi-driver. Mr. Paul Chapin. They give me their trade when they can, for old time’s sake. Once or twice they’ve let me get drunk at their place, Paul likes to see me drunk and he furnishes the liquor.” He laughed, and the harshness went. “You know, you take this situation in all its aspects, and you couldn’t ask for anything more hilarious. I’m going to have to stay sober so as not to miss any of it. I winked at you because you’re in on it now, and you’re going to be just as funny as all the rest.”
“That won’t worry me any, I always have been pretty ludicrous. Does Chapin get drunk with you?”
“He doesn’t drink. He says it makes his leg hurt.”
“Did you know that there’s a reward of five thousand dollars for finding Andrew Hibbard?”
“No.”
“Alive or dead.”
It looked to me as if, just stabbing around, I had hit something. His face had changed; he looked surprised, as if confronted with an idea that hadn’t occurred to him. He said, “Well, he’s a valuable man, that’s not too much to offer for him. At that, Andy’s not a bad guy. Who offered the reward?”