"
"Sa-a-ay! Didn't I hear you promise you'd fix it with me? Who's goin' to
pay the taxi bill?" He turned to the driver for confirmation. "Didn't
you hear him say he'd fix it? All that about his grandfather?"
"Matter of fact," muttered Anthony imprudently, "it was you did all the
talking; however, if you come round, to-morrow--"
At this point the taxi-driver leaned from his cab and said ferociously:
"Ah, poke him one, the dirty cheap skate. If he wasn't a bum they
wouldn'ta throwed him out."
In answer to this suggestion the fist of the Samaritan shot out like a
battering-ram and sent Anthony crashing down against the stone steps of
the apartment-house, where he lay without movement, while the tall
buildings rocked to and fro above him....
After a long while he awoke and was conscious that it had grown much
colder. He tried to move himself but his muscles refused to function. He
was curiously anxious to know the time, but he reached for his watch,
only to find the pocket empty. Involuntarily his lips formed an
immemorial phrase:
"What a night!"
Strangely enough, he was almost sober. Without moving his head he looked
up to where the moon was anchored in mid-sky, shedding light down into
Claremont Avenue as into the bottom of a deep and uncharted abyss.
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