"I didn't hear you," returned Gallegher, sweetly. "But I heard you
whistle, and I heard your partner whistle, and I thought maybe it was
me you wanted to speak to, so I just stopped."

"You heard me well enough. Why aren't your lights lit?" demanded the
voice.

"Should I have 'em lit?" asked Gallegher, bending over and regarding
them with sudden interest.

"You know you should, and if you don't, you've no right to be driving
that cab. I don't believe you're the regular driver, anyway. Where'd
you get it?"

"It ain't my cab, of course," said Gallegher, with an easy laugh.
"It's Luke McGovern's. He left it outside Cronin's while he went in to
get a drink, and he took too much, and me father told me to drive it
round to the stable for him. I'm Cronin's son. McGovern ain't in no
condition to drive. You can see yourself how he's been misusing the
horse. He puts it up at Bachman's livery stable, and I was just going
around there now."

Gallegher's knowledge of the local celebrities of the district
confused the zealous officer of the peace. He surveyed the boy with a
steady stare that would have distressed a less skilful liar, but
Gallegher only shrugged his shoulders slightly, as if from the cold,
and waited with apparent indifference to what the officer would say
next.