To demonstrate to his uniformed fare that speed laws in the greater city of New York fail to impose any manner of hamper upon the charioteering of the motor-driven hack, the chauffeur of this canary-colored taxi scampered across town at a forty-mile-an-hour clip, during which Patrolman Gladwin failed to familiarize himself with the quality of the cab's cushions. But it was not a long ride and there was some breath left in him when the cab came to a crashing stop. The young man was on the point of opening the door when a voice stopped him. "Kape inside, ye boob, an' pull the blinds down. There's coppers on every corner. Now, what is it ye want in the way o' whiskers or hair? Ye can slip me the change through the crack." "What's the prevailin' style?" asked Gladwin, with a laugh. "Are they wearin' brown beards?" "They are not," mumbled the chauffeur. "I guess a wee bit mustache an' a black wig will do ye, an' if ye want I'll get ye a pair of furry eyebrows." "Fine," cried the young man, poking a $20 bill out through the crack in the door, "and don't be long." The door slammed and a great stillness clapped down, broken only by the running of the taximeter, which seemed to be equipped with a motor of its own. The millionaire cop sat back luxuriously and inhaled a deep breath. "Gad!" he exclaimed to himself, "I'm really beginning to live. Nothing but thrills for four hours and more and larger ones coming." Presently the chauffeur returned, opened the door a few inches and shoved in a small package. "Ye'll have to paste 'em on in the dark," he said. "Or ye can light a match. Ye'll find a wee mirror in the bundle. Now where'll I drive yez?" "Back to me fixed post," said Gladwin, "only take it easy while I put me face on straight." "If ye don't git it on straighter nor your brogue," chuckled the chauffeur, "it'll not decave a blind man." In another instant the return journey was under way at reduced speed. Travers Gladwin first tried on the wig. It was three sizes too large and he had to discard it. Next he had some trouble in deciding which was the mustache and which the eyebrows. He had burned his fingers pretty badly before he made the selection and likewise he had singed one of the eyebrows. But he managed to plaster them all on before the cab stopped and after one glance in the little mirror he was confident the disguise would answer. When he stepped out of the taxi, at almost the very spot where he had boarded it, he felt that a big weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "How do you like me?" he asked the chauffeur, gayly. "Is it an improvement?" "I wouldn't say yis nor no to that," said the chauffeur, "but 'tiz a disguise, an' that's what ye were wantin'. Thim eyebrows is grand." "Thanks," laughed Officer 666, "an' here's a wan hundred dollar bill which asks ye to forget me uniform, me number an' me face."