"Well, well, Virgil Adams! I always thought you had a
sporty streak in you. Travel in your own hired private
automobile nowadays, do you? Pamperin' yourself because you're
still layin' off sick, I expect."
"Oh, I'm well enough again, Charley Lohr," Adams said, as he got
out and shook hands. Then, telling the driver to wait, he took
his friend's arm, walked to the bench with him, and sat down. "I
been practically well for some time," he said. "I'm fixin' to
get into harness again."
"Bein' sick has certainly produced a change of heart in you," his
friend laughed. "You're the last man I ever expected to see
blowin' yourself--or anybody else to a taxicab! For that matter,
I never heard of you bein' in ANY kind of a cab, 'less'n it might
be when you been pall-bearer for somebody. What's come over
you?"
"Well, I got to turn over a new leaf, and that's a fact," Adams
said. "I got a lot to do, and the only way to accomplish it,
it's got to be done soon, or I won't have anything to live on
while I'm doing it."
"What you talkin' about? What you got to do except to get strong
enough to come back to the old place?"
"Well----" Adams paused, then coughed, and said slowly, "Fact is,
Charley Lohr, I been thinking likely I wouldn't come back."
"What! What you talkin' about?"
"No," said Adams.
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