Dave Cates sighed, and his mouth twisted into a sad little grin. No sense in letting the ideal blossom over her. It would only fade and die if he did. She was a little princess of terpsichore and he was just a police radio announcer with a face that only a mother could love.
Some one was standing by his side. He glanced indifferently around and beheld the youth of the street car.
“Say, d’you know Mr. Margolo when you see him?” the boy inquired.
Dave Cates was on his guard instantly. “Suppose I do?” he demanded.
“Well, it’s this way.” Plainly the boy was flustered. “I—I—say, you work for him, don’t you?”
Cates took a moment before replying. “Maybe.”
“I thought so. Knew I’d seen you with Slim Fiske.” The boy sighed, relieved. “I’m to start drivin’ for Mr. Margolo next week,” he announced importantly.
“Yeh?”
“That’s right. One of his men hired me. Me, I ain’t never seen him, and I thought if you’d point him out I’d see if he’d come through with a little advance pay. I’m broke flatter’n a flounder.”
The nimble brain of Officer Cates digested this. So Margolo had made the mistake of hiring a driver who liked to give information about himself. This information was valuable.