ery like me, and held out my half-crown. He slipped back
his change into his own pocket, and when he had buttoned it over
ostentatiously addressed me again with what seemed a last appeal.
'I take it, guv'nor,' said he, 'you may have such a powerful list of
fighting fixtures in the week that you don't easy recollect one out
from the other. But _now_, _do_, _you_, _mean_ to say your memory
don't serve you in this?--I drove you over to Bishopsgate, 'cross
London Bridge. Very well! Then you bought a hat--white Panama--and
took change, seein' your own was lost. And you was going to pay me,
and I drove off, refusin' to accept a farden under the circumstances.
Don't you rec'lect that?' I said I didn't. 'Well, I _did_,' said he.
'And, with your leave, I'll do the same thing now. I'll drive you most
anywhere you'd like to name in reason, but I won't take a farden.'
And, do you know, he was off before my surprise allowed me to say
a word."

"Now, Gerry, was it that made you so glum on Monday when you came
back? I recollect quite well. So would Sally."

"Oh no; it was uncomfortable at first, but I soon forgot all about it.
I recollect what it was put me in the dumps quite well. It was a long
time after the cabby."

"What was it?"

"Well, it was as I walked to the station. I went a little way round,
and passed through an anonymous sort of a churchyard. I saw a box in
a wall with 'Contributions' on it, and remembering that I really had
no right to the cabby's shilling or eighteenpence, I dropped a florin
in. And then, Rosey dear, I had the most horrible recurrence I've had
for a long time--something about the same place and the same box, and
some one else putting three shillings in it. And it was all mixed up
with a bottle of champagne and a bank. I can't explain why these
things are so painful, but they are. _You_ know, Rosey!"

"I know, dear." His wife's knowledge seemed to make her quite silent
and absent. She may have seen that the recovery of this cabman would
supply a clue to her husband's story. Had he taken the number of the
cab? No, he hadn't. Very stupid of him! But he had no pencil, or he
could have written it on his shirt-sleeve. He couldn't trust his
memory. Rosalind didn't feel very sorry the clue was lost. As for him,
did he, we wonder, really exert himself to remember the cab's number?

But when the story was told afterwards to Sally, the moment the
Panama hat came on the tapis, she struck in with, "Jeremiah!