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Jim and then returned to the Taft to check ourselves and Bredenberg out as he rode the engine down on a dead head movement to check his interpole relay further. I gathered up everything in Alf's room and closet including two gray felt hats, one of which proved not to be his. But we "done as he told us to." On the way down in the elevator we were talked to by a red faced, lean looking fellow with a big blue Republican ribbon on, a Republican rally being in progress at the Taft and the place jammed. On hearing us order a taxi, this chap who was about 3/4 lushed up, asked Jim if we we wouldn't give him the job - he had a "private" taxi around the corner. So Jim said yes as long as he was a good Republican. We waited on the curb under the ornate Taft marquee, when suddenly I heard the bellboy way, "You don't want to ride down in [[underline]]that[[/underline]] do you?" I looked to behold a 1923 Dodge sedan, a half a tomato can for a radiator cap, weather beaten and bent ^and half wired together, the whole rear compartment piled to the roof with junk over which was thrown an old army blanket. We were dumb founded but didn't want to back out. Never batting an eye, the fellow said we could all ride in the front seat - he'd had [[underlined]]four[[/underlined]] in it many a time. So the bags were wedged into the back on top of the army blanket and we sardined into the front. I was afraid he'd crash us on the way to the station but he made it OK, reversed gear shift and all. It took me back to our first old Dodge. When we pulled up at the station, a cop was at the entrance. The driver leaned over and said out of the corner of his mouth, "Don't let that cop see you giving me any money; I'll go inside with