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Updated: July 25, 2025
Horton, standing on the front step, opened the screen door and put in his head. "Taxi's coming!" he announced. "Ready, Olive? I have the bag right here. Come, son." Sunny Boy was thrilled at the thought of riding in that orange dragon of an automobile. Mother and Daddy had friends who often took them motoring pleasant afternoons, and sometimes Sunny Boy went with them.
"Miss Larue, your taxi's waiting," announced Floretta. "Thanks. Are you going now, Mrs. Dunlap? Yes? Then ride down in the elevator with me." They parted at the foot of the elevator and Constance walked through the arcade of the office building in which the beauty parlor occupied the top floor. She stopped at a florist's stand to admire the flowers, but more for an excuse to look back at Stella.
Then, before she realised what had happened, the big car ahead slowed and swung sideways, blocking the road, and the cab came to a jerky stop that flung her against the window. She saw two figures in the dim light of the taxi's head lamps, heard somebody speak, and the door was jerked open.
"I'll get a bawling out from Fiegenspann," she said, and ran to a window. "Thank God, that taxi's here. And now you'd better get to bed. Maybe hereafter you'll know better than to mix it with somebody outa your class. You oughta known in the first place that perfect ladies have got it all over girls like us, before we start.
She smiled gently. "Would you?" "You know I would, lass. Well, I shall look forward to you and the spring." The cab drew up, and I opened the door. She stepped in. "Where shall I tell him to go?" For a moment she hesitated. Then she spoke slowly: "Was it the Carlton you said?" An hour later I stood once more at a taxi's door. Our luncheon was over, and I was saying farewell.
"I should like to go home, but I'm afraid " "Don't be. I'm going with you," he said. "By this time a taxi's waiting for us. Do you think you can walk if I give you my arm?" "I'll try," Clo answered, gratefully. No pretence of weakness was needed. She felt like a rag. O'Reilly took her by the hand, and with an arm round the slim waist raised the girl to her feet.
"Well, my dear boy! I have to thank you for an excellent dinner and a most interesting evening. Pity to break it up so early. Still, les affaires you know! Sorry you're not going my way but that's a handsome taxi you've drawn. What's its number eh?" "Haven't the faintest notion," a British voice drawled in response. "Never fret about a taxi's number until it has run over me."
"Are you going to Paddington?" she asked breathlessly. "Yes, I am," came the answer. The speaker's voice had a slight, well-bred drawl in it, reminiscent of the public school. "Can I do anything for you?" "You can drive me there, if you will," she replied, with the bluntness of despair. "My taxi's broken down." "But with pleasure."
Before she had time to go back to her hotel room with only a couple rough drafts to show for her efforts, they came for her in the park. Although he, like his son, preferred motion, Michael had persuaded his son to sacrifice a bit more of their time before her beloved alter of art. The taxi's meter was aggrandizing numbers for some time when they finally found her and took her away with them.
"Miss Bishop's tired that's our first consideration. A taxi's not got the latest pattern of springs that your car has." Taylor entered the room. "Taylor," he added. "Show Miss Bishop up to the Elizabeth room." He smiled at Sally as she departed; then, when the door had closed, he turned back to his sister. Now she was a lost woman, losing a losing game.
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