“I say it must be marvelous to have such a wonderful physique.”

“Oh,” said the Bearcat.

“So strong and everything. I love strong healthy men. They’re the salvation of our race.”

“Yeah?” said the Bearcat, as he slid the car up to the curb before the address she had told him. He sprang out, opened the door and assisted her out. She gave him a playful smile.

He made change for her, and she gave him a dollar tip. As he took it from her with grateful thanks, her hand closed on his.

“Wouldn’t you like to come up and have a cooling drink?” she said. “It’s so warm today.”

“No, thanks, lady,” the Bearcat said. “I got to keep on the go, if I want to make any money.”

“Oh,” she said almost pleadingly, “you wouldn’t be wasting your time, you know. I should enjoy your company, and I’d be glad to make it worth your while.”

“I’m sorry, lady.”

“Say, if we made it ten dollars.”

“Oh, thanks, lady. But I couldn’t. I’d like to. If you want to make it some other time, I’d be glad to come up.”

“Very well then,” she said. “It’s a promise. You’ll remember the address and I’m in apartment seven.”

The Bearcat had no intention of seeing her again. He was a little afraid of the woman. So strange! “She must be a little nuts,” he thought. After a week or two more of taxi-driving perhaps he would understand.

About the middle of the afternoon he had another call that attracted his attention. A distinguished looking tall man, with snow-white hair and well-groomed body, got into the cab with a dame who was highly rouged and expensively attired from shoes to the beautiful summer fur-piece about her shoulders. He caught snatches of their conversation.

“But I don’t want to stop at the Plaza for tea,” the man was saying, irritably. “You just want to show off that new fur I bought you.”

“Please, honey,” the girl begged.

“No, no. I’d be bored stiff. Let’s go up to the apartment.”

“But I don’t want to go up there yet. It’s too early.”

“What has the time got to do with it? We can’t get anything to drink at the Plaza.”

The girl’s voice grew loud and harsh.

“You’re afraid you’ll meet some of your high-hat friends there. You’re ashamed of me!”

“Please, please,” the man begged, “don’t shout in my ear. And how many times have I told you to speak quietly and not shriek like a London fishmonger.”

The girl started to cry. It sounded fake to the Bearcat.

“There you go callin’ me names again,” the girl sobbed.

“Good lord! I’m not calling you names. Don’t be silly. And stop sniffling. People are looking in at us.”

The crying stopped immediately.