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Updated: July 21, 2025
Dellogg"; and got down and actually opened the door for them, an attention so unusual in the taxi-drivers the twins had up to then met in America that they were more than ever convinced that nothing in the way of unfriendliness or unkindness could stand up against sun and oranges. "Relations?" he asked them through the window as he shut the door gently and carefully, while Mr.
I asked, "What has my country done for me?" moments when I envied the hotel night-porters, taxi-drivers, and red-nosed old women selling flowers in Piccadilly Circus who had something more sensible to do than to bother their heads about trying to be patriotic, and getting snubbed for their pains. Yet, with characteristic infatuation for hopeless ventures, I persevered.
You must excuse me. My memory for names is not what it was. And I hate to dissemble, don't you?" The announcement was a grave shock to Mr. Oswald Morfey, who imagined that half the taxi-drivers in London knew him by sight.
I had declined the services of the several taxi-drivers who had accosted me and had determined to walk a part of the distance homeward, in order to check the fever of excitement which consumed me.
Here you are! This way!" responded a half-dozen of the taxi-drivers. "Be still!" replied the young man solemnly to the noisy men. "Can't you see I'm engaged with John? Now, John, tell me honestly, are you free?" "Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Take you anywhere ye say," responded the driver glibly. "You're sure you're at liberty?" "Yes, sir. Yes, sir." "All right, then. I'm glad to hear it.
All the independent taxi-drivers had long since deserted their posts. The parking space on Cypress Street, opposite the main entrance of the station a space usually crowded with commercial cars was deserted. No private cars were there, either. Spike seemed alone in the drear December night, his car an exotic of the early winter. Ten minutes passed fifteen.
Taxi-drivers gossip among themselves, so a private car is better. . . . Excuse the rush, Lady Hermione, and you, too, Mrs. Curtis. I haven't another minute to spare." Luckily, Curtis found his overcoat awaiting him in the cloak room, or he might have been in a difficulty, for New York in November is not a city which encourages midnight journeys in evening dress.
Just the few minutes I have been here in this familiar old hotel, and the ride through the quiet streets, and getting off the train at the insignificant little depot, and having the hackman, they are taxi-drivers now, yell out, "Hello, Davy," and run up to shake hands with me, well, I am so homesick I could cry. But you know why I cannot come here to live and practise.
A little later a taxicab drew up at the curb, and the two disguised secret-service agents sauntered down the high steps of Mrs. Popple's brownstone house, looking neither to the right nor to the left, and got in. "Where to?" said the driver, with rather a bold leer. The average lady who descended or ascended Mrs. Popple's steps; was not considered respectable even by taxi-drivers.
"Good-morning!" said the Major. He was a stout man of nearly fifty, with twinkling blue eyes and a short-clipped mustache. Cockerell judged him to be one of the few remnants of the original British Army. "I stopped," explained the older man, "to apologise for the scandalous way that fellow drove over you. It was perfectly damnable; but you know what these converted taxi-drivers are!
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