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Updated: June 28, 2025
He took out a cigarette with his left foot, lit it with his right, and slid both feet back into his shoes. "Nearly there?" he asked. "No offense, Mac," the cabbie said, sounding obscurely troubled. "We're there in a minute." He turned and stared narrowly at Charley. The cab shot blindly on. "Say, listen. That with the cigarette. You belong to some kind of sideshow? I mean, no offense "
'Drive anywhere you like, he said; 'only don't drive fast for I'm getting old, and it shakes me to pieces. He jumped in, and shut himself up, closing the windows, and I trotted about with him for three hours, before he let me know that he had had enough. When I stopped, out he hopped with his big bag in his hand. "'I say cabbie! he said, after he had paid his fare.
"We'll go get some supper no, we'll take little 'scursion in Central Park, first," and his voice was thick, "correct, cabbie. Drive us shru Central Park." "Are you going to take a chance in a dark park?" Helene asked him, as they sat within the car, while the chauffeur cranked. Shirley was sharply observing the man.
Sedgwick, with "O, I had forgotten," handed the man a guinea, and passed into the hotel. Cabbie looked after him, then tapped his forehead as much as to say, "He is off in the upper story," and mounting his box, drove away.
It's not by no means as I'd have you go farther and fare worse, which it's a sayin' as I've heerd said, miss. So, if you're sure o' the place, I may as well be a-gettin' down of your boxes." So saying, he got on the cab, and proceeded to unfasten the chain that secured the luggage. "Wait a bit, cabbie.
He stepped inside, released the catch that let his suitcase thump to the floor, and sat down with a sigh. "Tough, hey?" the cabbie said. His glowing nameplate read David Peters Wells. He turned around, showing a face that had little in common with the official license photo, under his name. He was swarthy and short, with large yellowing teeth and tiny eyes. "Where to, Mac?" he said.
"Do they dream when they get there?" asked Sedgwick. "Why, man," said cabbie, "when they get there they are dead." "Great place!" said Sedgwick. "The greatest in all England," replied cabbie. "Do you know of any Englishmen who are in a hurry to be carried there?" said Sedgwick. "O, no," said cabbie, "the best of them are not in any hurry about it."
Later, when they were in a cab bound for her smelly little boarding-house, he showed them to her. In return she gave him a telegram from his firm a telegram addressed as follows: Mr. General Sales Manager, Comer & Mathison, New York City. The message read: That goes. Mitchell opened the trap above his head and called up to the driver: "Hey, Cabbie! We've changed our minds.
"You Englishmen must be a queer race, to be always dreaming of going to a place and still are never anxious to start," said Sedgwick. Cabbie gave up trying to explain the majesty of the great Abbey to one so utterly obtuse as Sedgwick seemed to be. He drove on in silence for half an hour or forty minutes before he rallied enough to speak again.
"I am making a study of the Hindoo language just at this time, and I would like to consult Pandu Singe about certain books on the subject." As it rolled rapidly away a second hack came bowling up to the curbstone in front of Nick's residence. It was the carriage for which Chick had sent a call. "Don't cover your horses, cabbie!" cried Nick, sharply.
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