They attracted my attention in just that order--first the chauffeur, then the young fellow, and, last of all, the girl.
It was the chauffeur who hailed me.

He leaned across the upholstery beside him and, still holding the wheel, said: "Say, Bill, what's the quickest way to get to Bayport ?" Now my name doesn't happen to be Bill and just then I objected to the re-christening.

At another time I might have appreciated the joke and given him the information without comment.

But this morning I didn't feel like joking.

My dissatisfaction with the world in general included automobilists who made common folks get out of their way, and I was resentful.
"I should say that you had picked about as quick a way as any," I answered.
The chauffeur didn't seem to grasp the true inwardness of this brilliant bit.
"Aw, what--" he stammered.