Broadway, that pulsating artery of New York life, was still flowing a thin stream of traffic despite the lateness of the hour, and Bob's mind had become clearer by the time he reached it. He signaled to the first horse-drawn vehicle that passed, but it was occupied, and the driver paid no heed to his call. Several taxi-cabs whirled past, both north and south bound, but he knew better than to hire them, so he waited as patiently as he could while those billows of intoxication continued to ebb and flow through his brain, robbing him of that careful judgment which he fought to retain. At last the clop-clop-clop of a horse's hoofs sounded close by, and an unshaven man in an ancient high hat steered a four-wheeler to the curb, barking: "Keb, keb!" Bob lurched forward and laid a hand upon the driver's knee. "Very man I'm lookin' for." The hiccup that followed was by no means intentional. "Yes, sir. Where to, sir?" But Bob shook his head vigorously and waved a comprehensive gesture toward the west. "Got a party of my own back yonder--everybody soused but me--understand? I'm the only sober one, so I'm goin' to drive 'em home, see? How much?" "How much for what?" demanded the cabman. "For the cab--one hour. I'll bring it back." "Nothin' doin'! I'll take you where you want to go." "Sorry. Mus' have my little joke, no matter what it costs. Next cabby'll do it." Nothing except Bob's personal appearance prevented the driver from whipping up without more ado, but a shiny top-hat, an immaculate expanse of shirt-bosom, and silken waistcoat, especially when linked with a spend-thrift air, command respect from the cab-driving brotherhood. The night was old--and these jokers sometimes pay well, the man reflected. "How'd I know you'd bring it back?" he inquired. "Matter of honor with me. I'll be back in no time. Will ten dollars be right?" "Hop in, Mister. I'll drive you an' your friends to Philadelphy for ten dollars," the cabby offered, invitingly. But Bob was obdurate. "I'll make it fifteen, and you can lend me your coat and hat. We'll exchange--have to, or no joke. Is it a go?" The offer was tempting, but the driver cannily demanded Wharton's name and address before committing himself. The card that Bob handed him put an end to the parley; he wheeled into the side-street and removed his long nickel-buttoned coat and his battered tile, taking Bob's broadcloth garment and well-blocked hat in return. "First one o' these I ever had on," he chuckled. "But it's a bit cool for shirt-sleeves, ain't it? Mind now, if you get lost give the horse his head and he'll find the stable, but don't run 'im. If you ain't back in an hour I'll know you've got a puncture. Ha! In the mornin' I'll take these glad rags to Charley Voice's hotel, eh?" "Right! The Charlevoix. But I'll be back." Bob drove away with a parting flourish of his whip.