S a letter in front of us. 'See here, chaps,' says he, 'this is the sort
of game that pays. Darn your shilling fares, says I; this is my style.'
The letter was from some toff, 'cause it come from Menzie's Hotel. It
asked Dick to meet him at St. Kilda. 'See what it is to have a
connection. This 'ere chap was recommended to call on me, and I knows
his game. I've just got to get a good turn-out and drive down to the
beach, call at the pub and get a letter which will give me instructions
where to meet him. Then I picks up a flash gent with a little, innercent
girl, and they'll get into the cab. 'Straight home, cabby,' he'll cry,
'we've missed the train.' That'll mean that I'm to go in the opposite
direction where there ain't no houses, and if I hear screamin' I never
listens. Then I get home about three; there's a big row, but I get a
tenner for the job.' 'Well, Dick,' says Joe, who is a good-hearted sort
of chap, 'if I thought anything of that kind was going on in my cab, a
hundred wouldn't buy me, but I'd take the horse-whip to him.' 'Shure,'
says I, 'I would put the blackguard in the sea, and drown him just.'
'Ha, ha,' laughs Dick, 'it wouldn't do for us all to be so soft, else
half of us would starve. Now I'll just tell you chaps how I serve my
customers. I just go round to Wallace's and get the best turn-out he
has, and I guess we'll cut a dash.' Then he got in his cab and drove
away. Neither me nor Joe envied him his tenner. Next day Dick came up to
the stand looking terrible black. He cussed and swore, and looked as if
he'd had a big drop too much. 'Have a good time last night,' says I to
him, civil like. 'No, blast yer; go to--' he says. I never spoke no
more, but after a bit he comes up to me and says--'Terry, those beggars
had me last night; it was a put-up job.' 'Go on,' says I, 'the inf
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