haven't a feather left to fly with. You ought not, with your experience of rough customers, to be taken in by him."
"Nor am I," I replied. "I am going to teach him a lesson. Would you like to see it? Then come with me."
Arm in arm we walked into the street, watched by Mr. Hawk from his seat in the cab. When we got there we stood for a moment chatting, and then strolled together down the pavement. Next moment I heard the cab coming along after us—my friend hailed me in his silkiest tones—but though I looked him full in the face I pretended not to know him. Seeing this he drove past us—pulled up a little further down and sprang out to wait for me.
"I was almost afraid I had missed you," he began, as we came up with him. "Perhaps as it is such a fine day you would rather walk than ride?"
"I beg your pardon," I answered, "I'm really afraid you have the advantage of me."
"But you have asked me to lunch with you. You asked me to call a hansom."
"Pardon me again! there you are really mistaken. I said I was going to lunch at the 'Quebec' and asked you if it was far enough to be worth taking a hansom. That is your hansom, not mine. If you don't require it any longer I should advise you to pay the man and let him go."
"You are a swindler, sir. I refuse to pay the cabman. It is your hansom."
I took a step closer to my fine gentleman and looking him full in the face said as quietly as possible, for I didn't want all the street to hear:
"Mr. Dorunda Dodson, let this be a lesson to you.
