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young millionaire was hungry, after the three hours spent in the theatre, and, knowing of a restaurant famed for its late suppers, Dick determined to go there, partly to see some of the gayer side of life in New York at midnight, and partly to satisfy his appetite. Accordingly he gave directions to the chauffeur, who, after speeding the machine down Broadway, turned into Twenty-third Street.

As the vehicle swung around the corner a lad, who was crossing the thoroughfare, had to jump nimbly to get out of the way. He reached the curb, and standing there shook his first [sic] at the occupants of the taxicab—Dick and the driver.

"What's the matter?" cried the lad who had so nearly escaped being run down. "Ain't the street big enough for you? Or do you want to chase folks up on the sidewalk?"

"Aw, beat it!" retorted the chauffeur, with all the contempt some automobilists feel for pedestrians. He had slowed up at the turn, but was about to turn on more power.