that _I_ should never have been guilty of such liberality, not
even if Mister Cabby had bowled me from Harlem to Brooklyn. And you
may take my word for it, the gentleman in the ancient plug-hat did
not wait to see if his fare had made a mistake, but trotted away good
and hearty. The cab system is one of the most pleasing and amiable
phases of metropolitan life.

Warburton rushed into the noisy, gorgeous lobby, and wandered about
till he espied the desk. Here he turned over his luggage checks to
the clerk and said that these accessories of travel must be in his
room before eight o'clock that night, or there would be trouble. It
was now half after five. The clerk eagerly scanned the register.
Warburton, Robert Warburton; it was not a name with which _he_
was familiar. A thin film of icy hauteur spread over his face.

"Very well, sir. Do you wish a bath with your room?"

"Certainly." Warburton glanced at his watch again.

"The price--"

"Hang the price! A room, a room with a bath--that's what I want. Have
you got it?" This was said with a deal of real impatience and a
hauteur that overtopped the clerk's.

The film of ice melted into a gracious smile. Some new millionaire
from Pittsburg, thought the clerk. He swung the book around.

"You have forgotten your place of residence, sir," he said.