whipping up without more ado, but a shiny top-hat, an immaculate
expanse of shirt-bosom, and silken waistcoat, especially when
linked with a spend-thrift air, command respect from the cab-
driving brotherhood. The night was old--and these jokers sometimes
pay well, the man reflected.

"How'd I know you'd bring it back?" he inquired.

"Matter of honor with me. I'll be back in no time. Will ten
dollars be right?"

"Hop in, Mister. I'll drive you an' your friends to Philadelphy
for ten dollars," the cabby offered, invitingly.

But Bob was obdurate. "I'll make it fifteen, and you can lend me
your coat and hat. We'll exchange--have to, or no joke. Is it a
go?"

The offer was tempting, but the driver cannily demanded Wharton's
name and address before committing himself. The card that Bob
handed him put an end to the parley; he wheeled into the side-
street and removed his long nickel-buttoned coat and his battered
tile, taking Bob's broadcloth garment and well-blocked hat in
return.

"First one o' these I ever had on," he chuckled. "But it's a bit
cool for shirt-sleeves, ain't it? Mind now, if you get lost give
the horse his head and he'll find the stable, but don't run 'im.
If you ain't back in an hour I'll know you've got a puncture. Ha!
In the mornin' I'll take these glad rags to Charley Voice's hotel,