Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman
tiating for the purchase of nine more. A few of his friends — young fellows like himself discharged from the army—were coming into partnership with him; and in six months he hoped to give up driving himself and to turn his business into a limited company, partly taxis and partly those really magnificent private cars that one sees at the opera and everywhere, filled by people who one knows could not afford to buy such things at the present prices. . .
I complimented him most warmly on his enterprise and determination.
“It was so obvious,” he answered. “Stand outside any theatre or restaurant on a wet night, and you’ll agree with me. There are thousands of people living in London, hundreds of thousands coming to London for a few nights, who need a car and can’t afford to keep one. By the time you’ve ordered dinner at fifteen shillings a head and champagne at two guineas a bottle and brandy at five shillings a glass and cigars at four shillings a-piece and stalls at twelve and six and anything else that occurs to you at any price that occurs to any one else, you don’t grudge an extra guinea for a car that takes you from your house to the restaurant, from the restaurant to the theatre and from the theatre home again. You’d spend the best part of a guinea in fares and tips—without any certainty.
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