"All right. And I shall want you to wait there, a little while, and then bring me back. How much will that be?"
"Dollar and a half, sir."
"Go ahead," directed Jack, springing inside and pulling the door shut.
The only time Benson had been to the hospital before was on the morning of the accident.
At that time he had not noticed the road very closely. Now, at night, all looked so different to him that he had no idea whether or not he was being driven in the right direction. He left all that to the driver, as most people do when employing cabs.
"I'd like just a little peep-in at Rhinds tonight," thought Jack, as he settled back against the comfortable upholstery. "I reckon he knows, by this time, something of the way of the transgressor."
If the young submarine captain noticed anything at all of the way the driver was taking him, he saw only that the vehicle was rolling through a quiet, rather shabby, ill-lighted portion of the city.
Thus the cab went, down street after street, the horses moving only at the slowest trot.
"What this cab needs is one of our gasoline engines," thought Jack, lazily. Then, suddenly:
"No, sir! By gracious, no! That would make an automobile out of this old tub on wheels, and, until Mr. Pollard gets whole again, anyway, we've had enough of automobiles. One of our crowd in hospital, at a time, is plenty!"