Blind Policy

“What? What do you mean?”

“Drop o’ somethin’ to clear your head, sir – and keep some o’ the wet out o’ me.”

“But – but I don’t understand you,” cried Chester, whose head still throbbed so that he dreaded losing his senses again.

“Oh, it’s all right, sir. Have a drop o’ something; you’ll be better then.”

“But how came I in your cab?”

“Your friend and me put you there, sir.”

“My friend?”

“Yes, him as you’d been dining with, sir; on’y you don’t seem to ha’ heat much.”

“My friend?”

“Yes, sir; that’s right.”

“Where was it?”

“Pickydilly Circus; ’bout three hours ago.”

“Yes – yes. Well?”

“And he says, ‘Take care of him, kebby,’ he says, ‘and drive him home. Bad cham,’ he says, ‘and he ain’t used to it.’”

“Then why didn’t you drive me home?” cried Chester, angrily.

“S’elp me! I like that! – I did; and no one was sittin’ up for yer; I knocked and rung for ’bout arf an hour before the old chap shoved up the winder and began a-cussin’ and a-swearin’ at me awful.”

“What old chap?” faltered Chester in his amaze.

“Your old guv’nor, I s’pose; and he wouldn’t come down, and told me to drive you to the ‘oh no, we never mentions him!’ for you warn’t coming in there. Then he bangs down the winder, and I waited ten minutes for him to get cool, and then knocks and rings again. This time he shoves up the winder and swears he’d shoot at me if I warn’t off; and as I got set agen ’orspittles ever since I was there for two months, I got up on the box again and drove off, for there was a bobby coming up; and I’ve been driving you about ever since.”

“Driving me about ever since?”

“That’s so, sir. We’ve been round Belgrave Square about a dozen times, and I was just going to drive you back to our stables, where it ain’t quite so wet, when you downed the window.”

“I can’t grasp it,” said Chester, hoarsely.

“Oh, never you mind about that, sir; you’ll be all right soon. You see, beggin’ your pardon, you was precious tight, and your friend had all he could do to hold you up. ‘Just like a jelly, kebby,’ he says; and you was, sir. Your legs doubled up like a two-foot rule with a weak jynte.”

“My friend!” cried Chester, snatching at that as something to cling to. “Who was that?”

“That’s what I’m a-telling you, sir. Your friend – ”

“But what sort of a person was it?”

“Big, stout young fellow, like a Lifeguardsman, but a real gent. Very jovial sort. ‘Take great keer of him, kebby,’ he says, and he tipped me a quid. ‘Help him up the steps when you get him home.’ ‘Right you are, sir,’ I says, as soon as I’d shut you up. ‘But wheer to?’ ‘Thirty-three Chrissal Square, Chelsea,’ he says, and there I drove you, and there you’d be, only your guv’nor cut up so rough.”

“Chrissal Square, Chelsea?” cried Chester, eagerly.

“That’s it, sir.”

“Why didn’t he tell you Raybeck Square?”

“Dunno, I’m sure, sir. That’s where all the doctors is.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Didn’t think you was bad enough, I s’pose, sir. And you ain’t. You on’y want a drop to clear your head a bit.”

“Drive me to Raybeck Square, thirty-four, at once.”

“Won’t you have a drop of something first, sir? Do you more good than going to a doctor’s, and me, too.”

“No, no, absurd. But one moment. You said Piccadilly Circus?”

“That’s right, sir.”

“And my friend helped me into the cab, and paid you to drive me home?”

“That’s it, sir. You’re getting it now – all by heart.”

“A tall, stout gentleman?”

“Well, not exactly that, sir. I don’t mean a fat ’un with a big weskit. A reg’lar strong-built un.”

“I can’t grasp it,” muttered Chester. Then aloud, – “But why did he tell you to drive me to the wrong house?”

“Bit on too, sir. Arter dinner. Did it for a lark, p’ra’ps.”

“Drive me home,” said Chester, sinking back. “I can’t recollect a bit.”

“Course you can’t, sir. Better have a hair o’ the dog as bit you.”

“No, no. There, I’ll give you a glass of brandy when we get back.”

“Suppose your guv’nor won’t let you in, sir?”

“Nonsense, man. I have a latch-key.”

“Wish I’d ha’ knowed it,” muttered the man, as he tried to close the door; “blessed if I wouldn’t ha’ picked your pocket of it and risked it I’d ha’ carried you into the passage, and chanced it. Blister the door, how it sticks!” he growled, as he banged it to, the jerk raising the glass, and it dropped down. “Chrissal Square, sir?”

“No, no, Raybeck Square; and make haste out of the rain.”

“Oh, I’m as wet as I can be, sir, and it don’t matter now,” grumbled the man, as he ascended to the box, and once more the maddening rattle and jangle began.