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And now a change came o'er the suave countenance of the Caliph of Bagdad. He looked keenly and suspiciously at the ex-coachman. "May I ask what your name is?" he said shortly. "You've been looking for me," said Thomas, "and don't know my name? You're a funny kind of sleuth. You must be one of the Central Office gumshoers.
The young man was no other than Thomas McQuade, ex-coachman, discharged for drunkenness one month before, and now reduced to the grimy ranks of the one-night bed seekers. If you live in smaller New York you must know the Van Smuythe family carriage, drawn by the two 1,500-pound, 100 to 1-shot bays. The carriage is shaped like a bath-tub.
Dumnoff's small eyes fixed themselves on the shadowy outlines of his companion's face, as though trying to solve a problem far too complicated for his dull intellect. "I wonder whether you are really mad," he said slowly, after a prolonged mental effort. The Count started slightly and stared at the ex-coachman with a frightened look. "Mad?" he repeated, nervously. "Who says I am mad?
Say; how do you come to be at this bed bargain-counter rummage sale." The other young man seemed to welcome the advances of the airy ex-coachman. "No," said he, "mine isn't exactly a case of drink. Unless we allow that Cupid is a bartender. I married unwisely, according to the opinion of my unforgiving relatives.
It is a curious thing I always do it in the same way, and they always tumble down. One would think people would learn " he paused as though considering a profound problem. "Perhaps they are not always the same people," remarked the Cossack. "That is true. That may have something to do with it." The ex-coachman relapsed into silence.
Furious, as became an ex-coachman of the count's, and brutally frank as only a cheated man can be, he had just made a frightful scene in public, had told the whole story in atrocious terms and had thrown everyone into angry excitement. It was further stated that the stewards were about to meet.
"What!" exploded young Ripley, growing very red in the face. "Thinking of buying him, sir?" asked the chauffeur respectfully." "I've already bought him," confessed Fred ruefully. Flannery whistled softly. Then he took the pony by the bridle, dragging him along over the ground at a trot, the crowd making way for him. "Wind-broken," announced the ex-coachman, leading the trembling animal back.
Then the great man turned and looked on his ex-waiter at the Euclid House the erect, well-built, well-dressed young man, standing hat in hand, with a curious blending of dignity and amusement on his face, and actually stammered, and muttered something about "not noticing, not thinking, not meaning, and everlasting obligations," in the midst of which the ex-coachman glanced at his watch, noticed the lateness of the hour in some dismay, signaled from the window a passing car, and hurriedly made his escape.
There was a little, brown, muffled chauffeur driving, and an imposing gentleman wearing a magnificent sealskin coat and a silk hat on a rear seat. Thomas proffered the captured tire with his best ex-coachman manner and a look in the brighter of his reddened eyes that was meant to be suggestive to the extent of a silver coin or two and receptive up to higher denominations.
But the look was not so construed. The sealskinned gentleman received the tire, placed it inside the car, gazed intently at the ex-coachman, and muttered to himself inscrutable words. "Strange strange!" said he. "Once or twice even I, myself, have fancied that the Chaldean Chiroscope has availed. Could it be possible?" Then he addressed less mysterious words to the waiting and hopeful Thomas.
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