"Right back!" he said to the cabby, hardly replying to the tailor's good-night. London was asleep. Even the streets through which he had driven to Kew were hushed in preparation for the sodden Sunday to come. The moon had lowered over the housetops, and St. Timothy's was in the shadow as once again he drew up in front of Pondel's. "Back already, sir?" The bobby stepped out to meet him. "Yes," replied McAllister wearily. "And those fellows down there are going home." The bobby rapped on the scuttle. Once more Pedler's head protruded above the sidewalk. "Mr. Pondel says you're to go home," said McAllister. "The gent's been all the way to Kew for you," interjected the bobby. "Hi, Aggam!" exclaimed Jim, huskily. "Th' gentleman says we are to go 'ome, Mr. Pondel says." He disappeared. Aggam could be heard muttering below. Presently the light was extinguished, and both emerged from the scuttle and put on their coats. McAllister felt sleepily exultant. Pedler pushed the scuttle into place. "Well," said McAllister after an awkward pause, "can I give you a lift? Which way do you go? I tell you what: you come back with me to the hotel, and then the hansom can take you both home." Pedler and Aggam looked doubtfully at one another. "Oh, come on, you fellows!" exclaimed McAllister, all his natural good spirits returning with a rush. "Get in there, now!" Pedler and Aggam climbed in, and McAllister directed the driver to go to the Metropole, after stuffing a sovereign into the hand of his friend, the policeman. The stars were still marching across the sky, and the breeze had freshened. Every window was dark; no one was astir. They heard only the echoes of their horse's hoof-beats. Yet the restless silence that precedes the dawn was in the air. "I lives miles aw'y from 'ere," said Pedler after a meditated period. "So do I," supplemented Aggam. "I don't care," replied McAllister. "I've had this cab all night, anyhow, and I want to celebrate. You see, this is the first time I ever got ahead of my tailor." Another long pause ensued. They were not a talkative lot, surely. McAllister's flow of language absolutely deserted him. He could think of no subject of conversation whatever. Pedler finally came to his assistance. "I'm thirty-seven year old, an' this is the fust time I've ever ridden in a 'ansom." "Jiminy!" exclaimed McAllister. "You don't say so! What luck!" "Fust time for me, too," added Aggam. After this burst of confidence the three rode in utter silence. At the Metropole the clubman jumped out and bade his companions good-night. As the cabby gathered up the reins preparatory to a fresh start, Aggam leaned forward rather apologetically. "You must hexcuse me," he remarked, "but I don't want to sail hunder false colors, and I feel as if I hort to s'y that while I'm a Socialist, I 'ave no particular sympathy with Sabbatarianism."