"
"Lead me to the coin," was the prompt decision.
"Here, then!"
P. Sybarite delved hastily into a trousers pocket and produced a
handful of bills of large denominations.
"There's a five hundred dollar bill to start with," he rattled,
stripping off the first that fell to his fingers--"and here's a
hundred--no, here's another five instead."
"In the mitt," the chauffeur stipulated simply, extending his palm.
"Either you're crazy or I am--but in the mitt, friend, and I'll run
the car right into that garage, 'f you say so."
"Nothing so foolish as that." P. Sybarite handed over the two bills
and put away the rest of his wealth. "Just jump into that car and be
ready to swing across the street and block 'em as they come."
"You're on!" agreed the chauffeur with emotion--carefully putting his
money away.
"And a thousand more"--his courage wrung this tribute from P.
Sybarite's admiration--"if you're hurt--"
"You're on there, too--and don't think for a minute I'll letcha
fergit, neither."
The chauffeur turned to his car, jumped into the driver's seat, and
advanced the spark. The purr of the motor deepened to a leonine growl.
"Hello!" he exclaimed in surprise, real or feigned, to see P. Sybarite
take the seat by his side. "What t'ell? Who's payin' _you_ to be a
God-forsaken ass?"
"Did you think I'd ask you to run a risk that frightened me?"
"Dunno's I thought much about it, but 'f yuh wanta know what I think
now, _I_ think you oughta get a rebate outa whatcha give me--if you
live to apply for it.
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