There was a cab cruising by as I cleared the threshold, and I could have sprinted and whistled and caught it. But it was hardly the sort of night when cabs were likely to be in short supply. I took my time, walked to the curb at a measured pace, held up a hand, and beckoned to a taxi.

Guess who I got.

“What you shoulda done,” Max Fiddler said, “was tell me you had someplace else to go. I coulda waited. How’s your leg now? Not too bad, right?”

“Not too bad,” I agreed.

“It’s good luck, finding you again. I almost didn’t recognize you, all dressed up and everything. Whattaya got, if you don’t mind my asking? A date? My guess, it’s a business appointment.”

“Strictly business.”

“Well, you look very nice, you make a good appearance. We’ll take the Transverse, okay? Go right through the park.”

“Sounds good.”

“Minute I dropped you off,” he said, “I said to myself, Max, what the hell’s the matter with you, man’s got arthritis and you didn’t tell him where to go. Herbs!”

“Herbs?”

“You know about herbs? Chinese herbs, like from a Chinese herb doctor. This woman gets into my cab, using a cane, has me take her down to Chinatown. She’s not Chinese herself, but she tells me about this Chinese doctor she goes to. When she started with him she couldn’t walk!”

“That’s wonderful,” I said.

“Wait, I haven’t even told you yet!” And, even as we entered Central Park, he launched into a tale of miracle cures. A woman with horrible migraines-cured in a week! A man with high blood pressure-back to normal! Shingles, psoriasis, acne, warts-all of them cleared up! Hemorrhoids-cured without surgery! Chronic back pain-gone!

“For the back he uses the needles. The rest is all herbs. Twenty-eight bucks you pay for a visit and the herbs is free. Seven days a week he’s there, nine in the morning till seven at night…”

He himself had been cured of cataracts, he assured me, and now he saw better than he did when he was a boy.