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Updated: May 18, 2025
"Say, boss, what's all the row about yonder?" "Crowd chasing a pickpocket, I imagine," said Trencher indifferently. Then putting a touch of impatience in his voice: "Where is O'Gavin inside?" "Yes, sir! Said he'd be ready to go uptown at eleven. Must be near that now." "Pretty near it. I was to meet him here at eleven myself and I thought I recognised his car."
"If O'Gavin doesn't hurry up we'll be late for an engagement we've got uptown. I'm going in after him." "Yes; all right, sir," assented the chauffeur with his attention very much elsewhere.
Big as New York was there was likely to be but one O'Gavin in it who would have a car such as this one anchored in front of the Clarenden and that would be the noted bookmaker. Trencher played his card. "Jerome O'Gavin's, eh?" he inquired casually as though stating a foregone conclusion. "Yes, sir; it's his car." And now the driver twisted his body and half-faced Trencher.
"The other man's not such a very good friend of mine that's why I'd rather wait outside for Jerome than to go in there." He made a feint at looking at his watch. "Hum, ten minutes more. Tell you what I think I'll do, driver: I think I'll just hop inside the car until O'Gavin comes out better than loafing on the sidewalk, eh?" "Just as you say. Make yourself comfortable, sir.
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