"There's an old chap--Foxey they calls 'im, but I don't know 'is right nyme--who drives a four-wheeler around Chelsea, an' 'e 'ad tyken a fare from the Square to the City. It might be four o'clock or it might be five, but 'e was on 'is w'y back from Cornhill when a gent, a tall, good-looking gent, a youngish, military chap, 'ails 'im and says: 'Cabby, drive me to Sloane Square. There's no 'urry, but tyke care, because it's foggy.' Old Foxey nearly jumped out of 'is skin at this bit of good luck. 'E was pretty full then, for 'e's a regular beer-barrel, 'e is, but 'e made up 'is mind to 'ave a fair old skinful that night. Well, Foxey drives 'im all right to the Square. The gent gives 'im five bob and says: 'Wite 'ere for me, cabby. You can drive me 'ome in about an hour's time.' This was at 5.30. Foxey drew up near the stytion, tells me all about it, an' stan's me two beers, 'e was that pleased with 'isself. 'E goes to give 'is 'oss the nose-bag, in comes the Richmond train, and out pops the lydy with the Richmond ticket. D'ye follow me?" "Every word." "An' you see now 'ow it is I can fix the d'y?" "Perfectly." "Well, I sees no more of Foxey. I missed 'im about the Square, so one d'y I axes at the rank,--'Where's Foxey?' An' where d'ye think 'e was?" "I can not tell." "In quod." "In jail. Why?" "That's hit. That's number two of the twos. Pardon me, but I'm gettin' a bit mixed. Well, it seems that that very night, comin' back from Putney as drunk as a lord, old Foxey runs over a barrer. 'E an' the coster 'as a fight. The police come, and Foxey dots one bobby in the blinkers and another on the boko. You wouldn't think it was in 'im. 'E must 'ave bin paralytic." "So he was locked up?" "Locked up! 'E was dragged there by the 'eels. Next mornin' 'e comes before the beak. 'We was all drunk together, your wurshup,' 'e says. 'I took a fare from the City to Sloane Square, an' 'e left me for more'n an hour. 'E comes back excited like--bin boozin' 'ard, I suppose--brings my keb up to a 'ouse, carries in a lydy who was that 'toxicated she couldn't stand, an' tells me to drive to Putney. We gits there, an' I says 'you've nearly killed my 'oss, guv'nor.' With that 'e tips me a fiver--a five-pun note, your wurshup.' 'What has that got to do with the charge?' says the beak. 'Wot?' says Foxey. 'If a chap give you a fiver for drivin' 'im to Putney wouldn't you get drunk?' With that the magistrate gives 'im three months for assaulting the police, and fines 'im the balance of the fiver for bein' drunk in charge of a 'oss and keb." The ticket collector took a long drink after this recital. "I hope you will not follow Foxey's example," said Bruce, rising. "'Ow do you mean, sir?" "Because I am going to keep my word. Here are the four sovereigns I owe you. In your case your two and two have made five."