The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1921-06-10
Eoen;ag Story
His Last Fare.
BY MARY MORRISON.

afternoon. At his sharp whistle taxis
came and went, one succeed ng
another, a continuous wave of them
joining the ever-moying stream of
traffic that poured up the avenue
And amid it all, stationary. shadow
Of the past, stood a hanson cab, its
old driver perched atop, his ancient
gh hat over his eyes. his reins lying
slack and listless over the patient
horses back.
For twenty years Pat had stood in
that same place. The time had been
when it was he who had dashed up to
collect his fare and had trotted off
merrily to join the gay procession of
shiny. black cabs going to many gay
rendezvous farther uptown. For
while it had seemed to Pat that the
whole fashionable world was waiting
for him and his sleek, brown horse to
whirl it away. But he was living to
see his world a tickle thing at best and
his golden place in it usurped by dago
taxi drivers and their yillainous, reek-
| ing cars.
! The starter, with a minute OF two
to spare, reused Pat from his dreary
revere with:
| "Well, Pat, no business this after
noon-eh?"
Pat shook his head in a weary mega
| tive. "Our days over-the nag's and
mine" he answered slowly. ''Tomor-
row it's the auction room for me cab
| ana Lne country LOT the nag anu IIlSt L
guess. The city has no use for the
likes of us any more; we're done for,
shure enough"
"Too bad, Pat, old boy; too bads"
sympathized the starter. It's long
time you've had your stand here, and
I'll miss you. But everybody's for
hurrying nowadays; it's catchin' a
train with five minutes to spare. Or it's
tea at the Ritz in another five minutes
or the like. Well, goodbye, I must
be off. Here comes a young Teller
who'll want a taxi in a hurry, I'll bet"
| Pat leaned back again, beset with
gloomy thoughts of the future, taking
a farewell glance at his dearly be-
loved New York that was treating him
so badly.
The young mans voice, raised in
dispute with the starter, brought him
back to the present.
mo, no." he was saying, 81 don't
want any of your old taxis. They're
too damned quick and cheerful A
hearse would be just about suited to
me, but I don't suppose you have one
on tap. Worse luck. Hey! that han
som cab! That driver looks almost
as gloomy as anything around. He'll
do" And like an angry whrlwind the
young gentleman entered the hanson,
calling to Pat:
i Drive me to hell, Sunny jim" |
'An roight, sor," says Pat. But
without intrudin'. sor,r which one is it
you're meanin' ?"
"Oh, any place-East End avenue
and Eighty-sixth street-that9l do
snapped the young gentleman, bang
| ing the little half doors together.
Were off," says Pat, and they
Joined the upward stream.
| a'Shure, it's a terrible way he's in, -
he unused. ST wonder what's ailin'
him now?"
He looked back over his shoulder
| OF he fol IN to he
young mans desperate mood could be
found there. And on the steps,, look
ing after the retreating cab, was one
of the prettiest ladies Pat had ever
seen in all his days of close associa-
ton with the very best New York had
to offer She was speaking hurriedly
to the starter, and they both looked
after the hanson. Then the starter
sharp whistle reached Pats ear, a
taxi dashed up and the lady entered
| It.
That's the answer, shure enough
said Pat to himself, and he chuckled
for the first time in many a long day
The taxi, with the lady in it, rushed
by them. Out of the little window in
the back Pat saw her looking intently
at his fare below until she disap-
peared from sight up the avenue.
Pat knew every landmark on Fifth
avenue, but on this last ride of his he
gazed at each familiar thing as If
seeing it for the first time, engraving
it on his city-loving heart forever
The huge library at Forty-second
: street, with its guarding lions on each
side-"God. how I love them honsH
groaned Pat. The Plaza hotel. which
he had seen being built and rush
comet-Ike into first place in the
fashionable world. The park, with
it's mysterious distances of green-ht
remembered how it looked at dusk
when the green turned to soft laven'
der and myriads of little lights, like
stars, twinkled thru it for mile upor
mile.
. - At Eighty-sixth street he turned
east, leaving behind him the moderr
i. palaces and the park. He crossed
, Lexington avenue, then Third, ther
Second, Avenue A-until it seemed a!
If the street was leading them RICH
into the East river.
In front of the little row of Ivy
covered red brick houses stood a ia
miIiar taxicab, and at their approach
? out of it stepped the same pretty lady
: She paid her driver hurriedly ant
sent him back toward the rushing
world of Fifth avenue as Pat drew up
!, Pats fare first caught sight of tn
, lady as he was in the act of descend
: ing from the cab. He stood stark still
half in and half out of the cab. mo
: tionless, as If turned to stone.
Philip said the girl. laying he
mana OIL the 6lOOHly SOuhSf man . Oh A.
Pat was a gentleman. His associa
ton with the beau monde in thos
: splendid old days stood him in goo
' stead now-for he sat on top of hi
ancient vehicle looking neither to tn
right nor to the left, as if he hear
and saw nothing. Nobody stirred o
= the quiet street. Pat. the young LADY
A and the angry eyed gentlemen wer
: alone on the brink of the East river
'PhiIip," continued the lady
. breathlessly; when saw you driv
off with that desperate look on you
!, face-I just couldn't stand it. an
when the starter at the hotel told m
you had given orders to drive here
y to the river-all sorts of horrid thing
:, came into my mind. I could hav
q bitten my tongue out for the things
i, had said to you. why did you com
to this jumping-off place, Philip"
The young mans face twisted int
!. a smile 81 live here, that's ALL" h
+ said, pointing to the last of the littl