“C. Q.”; or, In the Wireless House
“Beg pardon, sir!” called the astonished cabby after Micky as the latter was leaving the steps of the Plaza just as the Hon. Evelyn had entered her apartment on the twenty-fifth floor.
“Ain’t yer goin’ to pay me? This here old hoss is clean played out.”
Micky stopped short and thrust his hands into his pockets one after the other.
“How much is it?” he inquired calmly.
“Thirteen dollars and seventy-five cents,” answered the cabby.
“Is that all?” said Micky. “That ’s much too cheap. I should n’t think you could feed the horse on that,—apart from yourself. But, you know, I have n’t any small change about me.”
“Eh!” cried the cabby. “What are you givin’ me?”
“Charge it to the Earl of Toppingham!” said Micky, lighting a cigarette.
“Charge nuthin’!” shouted the cabman. “You give me my money!”
Then as the starter approached in lofty dignity he turned to him in aggrieved and whining tones.
“Say, guvnor, this guy ’ere tells me to hang296
