Then Theydon took a hand in the dispute, poured oil on the troubled waters by tipping the policeman half a crown and the driver half a sovereign--these sums being his private estimate of damages to dignity and lamp--and the journey was resumed, with a net loss, to the person who had absolutely nothing to do with the affair, of twelve and sixpence in money and nearly ten minutes in time.
Theydon was not rich, as shall be seen in due course, but he was generous and impulsive.

He hated the notion of any one suffering for having done him a service, and the taxi man might reasonably be deemed a real benefactor on that sloppy night.
So far as he was concerned, the delay of ten minutes was of no consequence.

It only meant a slightly deferred snuggling down into an easy chair in his flat with a book and a pipe.

That is how he would have expressed himself if questioned on the point.

In reality it influenced and controlled his future in the most vital way, because, once the cab had crossed Oxford Street and turned into the quiet thoroughfare on which the first block of Innesmore Mansions abutted, he passed into a new phase of existence.
The cigarette, lighted at last after the altercation, had filled the cab with smoke to such an extent that Theydon lowered a window.