"You're dead wrong," said Greg. "There's not so much in appearances as people like to think. Why, the richest man I know goes around looking like a rag-picker. And there's many a fancy vest covers an empty stomach. A workman with a good trade is a king alongside one of those poor devils that clings to the edge of what is called Society." "Well, I'd like to try a little clinging." "There's nothing like honest work." "For others. Anybody can have my share. I wisht I had your chances, that's all." "I'd give my 'chances' as you call them quick enough for a trade." Hickey favored Greg with a queer look. "Do you mean that?" "Sure I mean it." There was a silence of a moment or two while Hickey dipped his forefinger in a wet spot and drew designs on the mahogany. At last he asked very off-hand: "Would you call driving a taxi a trade?" "Sure. Why not?" "Well, why don't you try that? You said you could drive." "Well, in London I don't suppose I could compete with the native article." "I mean here." "I'm going to London, I told you." "But you don't have to go. According to yourself it's just a notion that you're sorry you took already." "What are you getting at?" "I'm just trying you out to see if you meant anything by your ideas. Are you willing to take a sporting chance?" "Try me." Once more Hickey hesitated, and then the proposal came with a rush. "Swap with me. I'll give you my flivver outside for three hundred and those clothes you're wearing. She's mine free and clear. Paid the final installment last week. She's not new, you may say, but all the better. She's well suppled up. And a bargain at the price. Got an elegant meter on her. Runs fast for fares and slow for the inspector. I'll let you try her out of course before you pay the money." Greg drew a long breath and stared at the other with widening eyes. His life had come to the parting of the ways, and he was free to choose any direction. This offer presented fascinating possibilities. Like most young men Greg fancied--it would be hard to say why--that the life of a cab-driver must be full of romance. "You wouldn't have to leave the old town then," Hickey went on craftily. "Believe me, you'd begin to see it for the first time. Inside and out!" Greg needed little persuasion. His own imagination pictured the adventure in more glowing colors than the taxi-driver had at command. It was something else made him hesitate. "Sorry," he said regretfully. "I haven't but two hundred in the world." An idea occurred to him, and his face cleared. "But I've plenty more clothes like these. They're in trunks and bags on the pier yonder. The outfit must be worth more than a hundred even at second-hand clothes prices. I'll give you the claim checks. I'll throw in the deposit receipt too, if you want to travel."