"We'll see."
Rising, he threw a pair of long arms around those of the driver,
pinning him, caught the reins, and turned the horses.
"Now ask him if he'll drive," he directed Perkins.
"Si, senor!" gasped the coachman, whose breath had been squeezed
almost through his crackling ribs.
"See that you do," the Southerner bade him, in accents that needed
no interpretation.
Presently Perkins looked up from his charge.
"Got a cigar?" he asked abruptly.
"No," replied the other, a little disgusted by this levity in the
presence of imminent death.
Perkins bade the driver stop at the corner.
"Don't let him fall off the seat," he admonished Carroll, and
jumped out.
In the course of a minute he reappeared, smoking a cheroot that
appeared to be writhing and twisting in the effort to escape from
its own noxious fumes.
"Have one," he said, extending a handful to his companion.
"I don't care for it," returned the other superciliously. While
willing to aid in a good work, he did not in the least approve
either of the Unspeakable Perk or of his offhand manners.
Before they had gone much farther, his resentment was heated to
the point of offense.
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