"Who Could That Be at This Hour?" (All the Wrong Questions) by Lemony Snicket

case.”
    I watched her go into the Lost Arms. It is true there are more important things than dinner, but it is difficult to keep those things in mind when you haven’t had dinner. I allowed enough time for Theodora to reach her room, and then I walked into the Lost Arms myself, wondering who in this small, fading town could possibly be watching us. Prosper Lost was standing under the statue of the armless woman, an eager smile on his face. I remembered the word now that had been on the tip of my tongue. It was “obsequious,” and it refers to people who behave like one’sservants even when they aren’t. It might sound like that would be pleasant, but it is not.
    “Lovely evening, Mr. Snicket,” he said to me.
    “More or less,” I agreed, looking across the lobby. Theodora had said she’d called the mansion, which meant the phone had not been in use. I hoped this was the case again, but a woman with a long fur stole around her neck was talking into it. “Is there another telephone anywhere nearby?” I asked.
    Prosper Lost gave a small shrug. “Regrettably, no.”
    “Might you be able to give me a ride someplace?”
    “Unregrettably, yes,” Prosper said, “for a small fee, of course.”
    There may be a town in which lint in my pocket would count as a small fee, but I knew that Stain’d-by-the-Sea was not that town. I gave Prosper the sort of “Thank you” that does not mean “You have been very helpful” but means“Please go away,” and he did. I walked back out of the Lost Arms and stood out on the street wondering what to do, when a car pulled around the corner and stopped right in front of me. It was the dented yellow taxi I had seen earlier. Up close its dents looked worse, with one of the doors so banged up I could scarcely read the words BELLEROPHON TAXI printed on the side.
    “Need a taxi, friend?” asked the driver, and it took me a moment to see that he was a little younger than I was. He had a friendly smile and a small scab on his cheek, like someone had given him a hard poke, and he was wearing a blue cap too large for him with BELLEROPHON TAXI printed on it in less dented lettering.
    “I’m afraid I don’t have any money,” I said.
    “Oh, that’s OK,” the boy replied. “With the way things are going in this town, we generally work just for tips.”
    “Do they let you drive at your age?” I asked.
    “We’re substituting for our father tonight,” he replied. “He’s sick.”
    “ We ? Who’s we ?”
    The boy beckoned me over, and I leaned into the taxi and saw that he was sitting on a small pile of books to reach the steering wheel. Below him, crouched on the floor of the car, was a boy who looked a little younger, with his hands on the car’s pedals. His smile was slightly wicked around the edges, as if he were the sort of person who occasionally poked his brother too hard.
    “ We is my brother and me,” he said in a very high voice. “I’m Pecuchet Bellerophon, and he’s my brother, Bouvard.”
    I told them my name and tried to pronounce theirs. “Nothing personal, but your names make my tongue tired. What do people call you?”
    “They call me Pip,” said the brother holding the steering wheel, “and him Squeak.”
    “Because I work the brakes,” squeaked Squeak.
    “Of course,” I said. “Well, Pip and Squeak, I need to get to the lighthouse.”
    “The Mallahan place?” Pip said. “Sure, hop in.”
    I looked at the books he was sitting on. They looked like they were from the library, and some of them were books I admired very much. “Are you really sure you’re old enough to drive?” I said.
    “Are you old enough to go to the edge of town by yourself?” Pip replied. “Come on, get in.”
    I got in, and Squeak hit the gas. Pip steered the car expertly through the crumbly, half-deserted blocks of Stain’d-by-the-Sea. I spotted a grocery store, empty but open, and a department store with mannequins in the window that wanted to go home. The sun was