Before he had set out on his great adventure, his father had given him ten pieces of silver. These he now produced and counted carefully. Then having assured himself that he was furnished with the necessary means, he set out to reach the row of cabs. With a supreme effort of the will he dismissed from his thoughts all the frightful risks that he incurred, and plunged recklessly into the mighty stream that had to be navigated ere he could reach the row of cabs. But dire necessity armed him with strange valour. As he emerged from the whirlpool breathless, but still alive, into the presence of the row of cabs, he accosted with heart violently beating the foremost of the cab-driver street-persons, who stood at the door of his vehicle eating his mid-day meal out of a piece of newspaper. “I-if y-you p-please, I w-will g-give you these t-ten p-pieces of s-silver--sh-shillings, you know,” he said, sick with anxiety, “if you will take me in your c-cab to No. 24 Trafalgar Square by t-twelve o’clock.” With eyes of entreaty the boy held out his hand to the cab-driver street-person, and lying on its open palm were the ten pieces of silver. The cab-driver street-person’s first act was to look very solemnly at the pieces of silver, and then at the boy with equal solemnity. Then with a solemnity which seemed to transcend either of these actions, he transferred each of the pieces of silver without undignified haste, nor yet with churlish reluctance, to his own somewhat grimy palm. “C-can y-you do it?” said the boy hoarsely, “or are the minutes too few; is the time too little?” By this, as if attracted by the mien of the cab-driver street-person, several of his companions had come about him. “Can I do it, Captain?” said the cab-driver street-person slowly and more solemnly than ever as he looked at his companions, and balanced a large piece of cheese very thoughtfully on the end of a clasp-knife. “We’ll make no promises, Captain, but we’ll try.” “Oh y-yes, p-please,” said the boy, “d-do t-try.” “The old hoss don’t purtend to be a flyer, you know, Captain,” said the cab-driver street-person, as he wrapped up the remainder of his meal in the newspaper in a fashion so leisurely that the boy could hardly endure it; “at least not these days, although in his prime he ran second in the Cesarewitch, but there’s no saying what he can do when he tries.” The cab-driver street-person climbed to his perch as the boy was assisted into the interior of the vehicle by two other cab-driver street-persons who ensconced him therein, and closed the door upon him as though he were a pearl of price. They then stood to await the fruit of their labours with an air of expectancy that was quite politely dissembled. “I suppose, Joe,” said one of the driver’s confrères, with a solemnity that was in nowise inferior to that of the man on the box, “you’ll go by the Suez Canal and Himalayer Mountains route, what?”