orse and a driver answering to Dick's description drive away.

"That looks like Dick," said Reg, excitedly.

"Here you are, gintlemen, jump in," said the driver of a cab, with a
strong Irish accent, as he brought his vehicle to a standstill alongside
them.

Acting on impulse they jumped in.

CHAPTER X.

CABBIES.

Hal and Reg had merely acted on impulse when they entered the cab. All
they wanted was to get the cab out of the neighbourhood of the rank. So
they ordered the driver to take them to Hosie's Hotel, in Flinders
Street. Going along, a smart landau passed them, carrying a young man.

"Look, Hal," cried Reg, pointing him out. "There is our friend, the
bishop's son. Wonder whose carriage he is in."

"Don't know, but it is exactly as I told you. He'll live for twelve
months or more among _our_ bloated aristocracy, who will feel only too
honoured to have him as their guest."

"I suppose he has money?"

"Not necessarily. He can borrow, and they will be only too glad to lend.
As soon as he is tired of one, he can go to another, and so on until he
plays them all out. Finally, he marries an heiress, and goes home to
spend her money amongst his friends and relations," said the cynical
Hal.

The cab brought them to the hotel, and, alighting there, they ordered a
boy to the horse's head, and asked the cabby to join them in a drink.

"What's your name, cabby?" asked Hal, as he handed him a pint of beer.

"Terence O'Flynn, with the accent on the 'ynn.'"

"Very nice name, too. Did you notice that cab with the grey horse drive
away as we drove up?"

"Sure I did, for wasn't he foreninst me?"

"Do you know the driver's name?"

"Rather! It's Dick Burton he is, and no other."

"Where's he gone to now, Terence?"

"Sure, and I cannot tell you. He is a lucky devil is Dick, and always
manages to get hold of a soft line."

"What do you call a soft line, Terence?"

"Why, gents like yourselves, with plenty of brass."

"I see, and for that reason you want us to take your cab, eh? You want a
soft line, too."

"Oh! I don't mean it that way. You see, a soft line is when a fellow
pays his cabby a sov., instead of a bob."

"But these sort are scarce now, Terence?"

"I don't know about that. That fellow, Dick, allus seems to spot 'em.
Why look at that chap Wyck who----"

"Are you a mate of Dick's?"

"Well, you see, we go for a booze sometimes together."

"Come on! Drive us to Tattersall's stables."