3 A.M.
I glances at Old Hickory to see if he 's gettin ' nervous at some of the close shaves ; but he 's braced himself in one corner , his teeth sunk deep into his cigar and his eyes glued on that yellow taxi ahead . They was wise to the fact that we was after 'em , too . First Auntie would rubber back at us , and then lean forward to prod up her chauffeur . A couple of rare old sports , them two , with no more worries for what might happen to their necks than if they 'd been joy-riders speedin ' home at 3 A.M. from the Pink Lady Inn . Me , I was holdin ' my breath and waitin ' for the grand smash . If Auntie 's driver had stuck to a straightaway run we 'd either caught 'em or smeared ourselves against a beer truck or something . But after the first mile he takes to dodgin ' .