"Got a dollar you ain't usin'?" enquired the chauffeur, who was her creditor of the jitney fare. He did not glance at her as he spoke, but continued to look straight before him in his characteristic, businesslike way—showing, as formerly, a humorous profile, an eye-corner that twinkled, and hair so thick and curly that he was obliged to keep his peaked driver's cap sideways to keep it on at all.
Daisy looked down, moving her toe with shyness, among the grass-roots at the edge of the sidewalk. "I have ten cents," she said, "for—for street-car fare."
"Carfare where to?" enquired the taxi-driver, promptly.
"Nowhere," said Daisy.
"They're a poor bunch there. Don't go. Stranger in town?"
"Oh, not too strange, you know," said Daisy, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.
"That's all right, then," the young man opened the fore-door of his car and moved over a little on his seat. "Jump in. I'll whirl you out to city park."
"Oh-h, no-o-o," Daisy made her mouth into a mischevious oval of protest, "I couldn't do-oo that."
"Why couldn't you?" the driver's head jerked half-around, in a brief study of her face. "Got to report to mother?"