"I beg your pardon," said the Unspeakable Perk eagerly, in
Spanish, turning to the dim recess of the victoria. "Might I--Oh,
it's you!" He seized Carroll by the arm. "I want your cab."
"Indeed!" said Carroll. "Well, you're cool enough about it."
"And your help," added the other.
"What for?"
"Do you have to ask questions? The man may be dying--is dying, I
think."
"All right," said Carroll promptly. "What's to be done?"
"Get him home. Help me carry him to the cab."
Between them, the two men lifted the heavy, mumbling cripple,
carried him up the steps with a rush, and deposited him in the
cab, while the driver was still angrily expostulating. The beggar
was shivering now, and the cold sweat rolled down his face. His
bearers placed themselves on each side of him. Perkins gave an
order to the driver, who seemed to object, and a rapid-fire
argument ensued.
"What's wrong?" asked Carroll.
"Says he won't go there. Says he was hired by you for shopping."
Carroll took one look at the agony-wrung face of the beggar, who
was being held on the seat by his companion.
"Won't he?" said he grimly.
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