"after I have scribbled a note of explanation to Mr. Ashley. He was to have lunched with us at 1 o'clock, you know."
After they have gone Van Zandt drops his head upon his hand, and for the space of ten minutes remains plunged in thought. Then, to the waiter's surprise, he leaves his breakfast untouched and quits the dining-room.
In the office he sees Mr. Felton settling his bill. Outside the hotel a line of "cabbies" are drawn up and these Van Zandt looks over critically, finally signaling to one of them, a jovial, red visaged Irishman.
"Riley, a lady and gentleman are going from this hotel to Barclay Street and North River within a few minutes. I want you to have the job of carrying them," says Van Zandt.
"I'm agreeable, sor."
"After you have secured the job, I want you to miss the steamer which sails for Cuba at 11 o'clock. Understand?"
Riley puckers up his mouth for a whistle which he decides to suppress.
"Sure that would not be hard, sor. It's tin o'clock now."
"Here they come now. Look to your job," says Van Zandt.
Mr. Felton and Miss Hathaway emerge from the hotel, followed by a porter with their trunks. Amid a chorus of "Keb, sir!" "Keb!" "Keb!" in which Riley sings a heavy bass, Mr. Felton looks about him in perplexity, and finally, as though annoyed by the importunities of Riley, who is rather overdoing his part, he selects a rival "cabbie."
Riley turns somewhat sheepishly to Van Zandt, who looks after the disappearing carriage in vexation.
"Shall I run them down, sor?" asks the Irishman, with a wink which means volumes.
"Can you prevent them reaching the pier?"
"Sure, I think so, your honor."
"I'll give you $50 if you do it."
