# Speedy (Holman)/Chapter 12

Much as Speedy would have liked to, he did not stop in and speak to Jane the next morning on his way to the car barn. He knew that if he did so, she would probably insist upon accompanying him on his trips with the car. He did not want to embroil her in the impending mêlée. She was better off, physically and mentally, at home, out of danger. He would take a chance of her misunderstanding him. Even after the sign she had given him of her affection for him at parting the night before, it was better that she did not learn of the probable battle today. It would only worry her.
As he walked down De Lacey Street in the early morning sunshine of a perfect, almost summery day, though it was the first week in October, his staunch henchmen greeted him from their store entrances and front porches.
"No signs of rain yet, eh, Speedy?" called out Chris Walters. "Well, just give us the word when you want us."
"All ready for the big fight," Adam Schultz, dusting off the wooden Indian in front of his cigar store, assured him. "Vouldn't it be a shame if nodding happened?"
Speedy grinned. "Don't worry, Adam," he grimly predicted. "There'll be lots doing later."
Others contented themselves with a reassuring ​wave of the hand that they were ready to come a-running when the tocsin sounded.
Speedy unlocked the door of the car barn and walked into the stall of Old Nellie, Pop Dillon's faithful gray mare. He gave the nag a generous morning meal, busying himself while she was eating by searching for a certain utensil of his own which he felt might come in handy. Over in the corner in the compartment where Pop kept his bales of straw he found it. A good, substantial baseball bat which had once belonged to his father, the elder Speedy Swift. Speedy had left it at the car barn following a scrub game of baseball in the middle of De Lacey Street some months previous. He now took the bat and, after hefting it a few times with satisfaction, carefully parked it beside the control box on the front platform of the car.
Then going back to Nellie, finished with her repast, he drew the harness down from its peg and decorated the horse with it. He led her to the shafts of the car and hitched her up. Stepping into his place on the driver's platform, he threw out his chest, gritted his teeth and, taking the lines in his hand, chirped, "Gid-dap, Nellie, old girl. You and I are probably going to see a lot of fun before we get through with this day's work." The old mare tossed her head, as if she understood what he was saying. Pop often maintained that Nellie had more sense than most humans.
The total rolling stock of the Crosstown Railways emerged placidly from its terminal and set out upon the day's work. De Lacey Street basked in the sun, ​peaceful and normal. Barnett, the butcher, was setting out his green goods in front of the store. Le Duc, the jeweler, had come to the door of his shop so that in the sunlight he could better squint through his magnifying glass at the machinery of a brokendown watch. He saw Speedy coming and waving cheerfully. Housewives, market baskets on their arms, were making their morning purchases. One or two were sweeping the sidewalk in front of their houses. They glanced apprehensively at Speedy. From various hints some had sensed that trouble was brewing and that their men folks would be involved. Small boys romped on their way to school.
For the first twenty minutes of Speedy's day's work it seemed that this almost pastoral scene would continue. He made the complete trip one way to the end of the line without untoward incident of any kind. He had no passengers, but this he expected. The women of the neighborhood had been warned to stay off the car and the men folks, intending to take the attackers by surprise if they came, were going about their business without apparently paying any attention to Speedy.
One fat old woman, a stranger to De Lacey Street, signaled to the car to stop as Speedy turned around to make his trip back to the barn. He waved to her as he shook his head negatively. She motioned frantically, shouted and became very red of face with the exertion of endeavoring to persuade this evidently crazy young man to stop. Speedy went blithely on.
He figured that the trouble would break out on ​this first trip or not at all. And he did not want any women involved, strangers or otherwise. They would cramp the fighting style of his henchmen and him. If he made a complete trip to the end of the line and return, thus fulfilling the requirements of the franchise, then he could conclude that Carter and his friends had abandoned their efforts for the day. Then he would start taking passengers.
A block farther on from the spot he had left his gesticulating would-be customer, the first ripple disturbed the smooth surface of the De Lacey Street calm.
A short, stocky man stepped out from the curb and held up his stubby hand to stop the car. He was a hard-looking character. His shirt had no tie or collar attached. A dirty cap was pulled down over his ears. He was unshaven and his hip pocket bulged suspiciously. Speedy looked at him sharply, took a deep breath and made sure his ball bat was leaning comfortably in its corner. He let Nellie plod right on.
Though the fellow had now stepped almost in the path of the car in his effort to stop it and was waving his hand, Speedy pretended not to see him and even slapped the lines on Nellie's back to hurry her along. As he did so, two men evidently of the same ilk as the first—tougher if possible and certainly taller—stepped out from the shadows of the brick building on the corner and joined the short roughneck in the street.
As the car swung past them, Nellie now having been persuaded to break into a slow trot, they one ​after the other leaped easily aboard the car at the back platform. Speedy turned around warily to watch them. He did not want to be attacked from the rear before he had a chance to give the signal. Nor did he wish to summon his cohorts at once and set them upon this sinister though not yet belligerent trio. Rough-looking strangers from the Bowery district occasionally appeared on De Lacey Street and rode on Pop's car for perfectly legitimate reasons. There was a chance these men were not members of Carter's gang. Even if they were, Speedy chose to wait a while and see what would develop, possibly discover more about the strength and numbers of the opposition before sounding the alarm.
Two of the men, the tall ones, took seats about in the middle of the car. They watched from behind beetled brows as the first and shorter man walked up to Speedy and snarled unpleasantly, "Waddeya mean, drivin' past me, huh?"
Speedy turned half around, looked steadily at the fellow and said, "Why, did you want to ride?"
"You know I did, bo. I ain't used to bein' high hatted, I ain't. Fact is, kid, I don't like you at all."
Speedy squared around to him still more. He felt that the crucial moment was coming. He had feared he would be nervous and perhaps frightened, but to his secret relief he was quite calm.
"And I don't like you much either," he retorted.
"Oh, is zat so!" The short man turned to his two pals, who had joined him now, having left their seats and slipped up to the front of the car with the ​cat-like movement of the born thug, and were facing Speedy.
"Waddeya know about that, boys; the kid don't like us," growled the stocky man.
"In that case maybe we better part company, hey?" snarled one of the tall men with a sneering smile.
Speedy had been sizing up all three men, trying to recall if he recognized any of them as having been in Puggy Callahan's "club" the night of his visit. He thought he recognized two of them. The short man, he decided, was Puggy himself and the tall man who had just spoken was the one who had opened the door for Danny and him and had then led them to their intended destruction.
At that moment they were in front of Chris Walter's delicatessen store. Chris himself was standing beside the track, apparently waiting for the car to pass so that he could cross the street. He was within a few feet of Speedy as the front platform of the vehicle came even with the burly chest of the merchant.
"Good morning, Mr. Walters," said Speedy pleasantly, leaning out of the car. "Looks like rain." With an almost imperceptible hitching of his shoulder toward the three tough customers standing beside him.
"It does, at that," replied Walters.
Glancing back a second later, Speedy noted with satisfaction that his lieutenant had turned back to the curb and was undoubtedly going to warn De Lacey Street to stand by for trouble.
​"What do you mean, 'Looks like rain'?" sneered Puggy Callahan at Speedy's elbow. "It's clear as a bell."
"Can't tell about this uncertain October weather," explained Speedy.
There was an ominous silence.
A minute later they passed Barnett's butcher shop. The butcher, apron and straw wrist guards and all, was out in front supervising the loading of his delivery wagon by one of his stalwart sons. The elder Barnett looked over questioningly.
"Looks like rain, Mr. Barnett," called Speedy. "Be here any minute now."
"You talk like a sap," growled Callahan.
Again silence, the air dark with danger, and Nellie plodding on.
Puggy now spoke again, renewing a former threat. "I don't like you," jeered Puggy. "I don't like the way you talk, even about the weather. And you don't like me, so I'll tell you what you do, see? You get off this car and run and sell your papers. Fast! Get me?"
"Oh, no," protested Speedy. "I'm going to stay right here. But I'm going to give you fellows one chance. Beat it away quick and nothing will happen. Stick around and you're going to get the beating of your lives!"
This threat was greeted by exclamations of surprise from all three men for his audacity, then with loud guffaws at the absurdity of it. While they were laughing, Speedy took the opportunity to glance around and survey the landscape. He gave
​a sudden start of alarm! Eight or ten ruffians were congregated on the corner which he was now approaching. Across the street, in the shadows of the alley leading alongside Barnett's meat shop, he caught a glimpse of as many more.
That was it then! The next corner had been selected as the spot where the Battle of De Lacey Street would be waged! Carter had evidently despatched Puggy and his two lieutenants to attempt the intimidating and ousting of Speedy without a fight. That failing, his strategy called for the entire strength of the Callahan clan to fall upon the obstinate youth at the next corner.
The three Callahan stalwarts now stepped toward Speedy in unison.
"Come on, kid—git off or we throw you off, Fight us and we'll bust you wide open! Last chance. Whaddeya say!"
Speedy's lightning-like reply was to yell "Whoa!" to Nellie, lean far over the dashboard of the car and raise his right hand high over his head and shout, "Looks like rain! Looks like rain!"
The three Callahanites started toward him.
"Come on, Walters, Schultz, Barnett and the rest of you! Come on!" shrieked Speedy. Humanity started to pour from the sidewalks—opposing armies. The battle was on!
Speedy ducked agilely as a fist swung through the air, missing his head by inches. He ducked again as Puggy Callahan flung himself at his waist like a football player attempting a desperate flying tackle. Puggy's closely shaven head hit the hard ​metal of the car dashboard with a resounding whack and the gang leader was for an instant hors de combat. He retained his senses enough, however, to yell at the third thug, who was reaching angrily in his hip pocket for the thing that bulged there, "No shootin', Muggs! Remember Carter's orders!"
Speedy heard and inwardly rejoiced at this. At rough-and-tumble fighting, minus firearms, he was confident his followers were an even match for their foes.
But he had little time to think about anything during the next few minutes except to prevent himself from being annihilated. The first thug drew a blackjack and made desperate efforts to force Speedy to remain still long enough to have his skull cracked. Speedy's answer was to leap into a corner and produce his ball bat. His first furious swipe with this caught the blackjack-wielder a glancing blow on the jaw, enough to send him tumbling to the floor. But Puggy was now on his feet again. And the would-be gunman, having again concealed his cannon in obedience to orders, was flailing wildly about with fists adorned with an evil-looking pair of brass knuckles.
Meantime the region around the car was a mass of fighting, kicking, yelling mêlée. The halting of the car had brought Callahan's men on the run from both sides of the street. And Speedy's signal had been similarly effective. From shops and houses, from alleyways and byways, the males of De Lacey Street came tearing, eager for the fray. Many of them seemed to leap up out of the ground.
​The crooks were taken by surprise. Callahan's diplomacy failing, they had planned to rush Speedy off the car by sheer force of superior numbers, kidnap him, hold him for a few days until Carter could buy in the forfeited franchise and then release him. Now they had a battle on their hands! Not that they regretted it particularly. Their lives consisted of fighting. They went to it with a will.
Staving his three particular enemies off with his swinging bat, Speedy had a chance to look around and size up the pandemonium crashing around him.
"Atta boy, Adam!" he yelled as he saw Schultz, grotesquely arrayed in a football suit, head guard and all, belonging to his oldest boy, bring the flat side of a butcher's cleaver down on the head of an ambitious Callahanite and fell him to the ground.
"Look out, Jacques!" he screamed a warning as a fat crook leaped at the back of Le Duc, the jeweler. The Frenchman, heeding, ducked quickly and the high jumper sprawled on his face on the hard asphalt of De Lacey Street.
But now the business at hand was becoming hotter. Thugs by the score were crowding up onto the car platform. Speedy was beset on all sides. In a minute he would be completely hemmed in by this tightening circle of fists, clubs and blackjacks. He no longer had room in which to swing his bat. Deeming discretion the better part of valor, he suddenly turned and, catching the overhanging roof of the car with one hand, swung himself out and upward. Still clutching the bat, he secured a grip on the roof with the other hand also and fairly ​hurled himself up on it. Several hands grabbed for his swinging legs and he had to kick them loose before he found himself, panting but free, atop the car.
Speedy scrambled at once to his feet, in time to smack down with the bat two enterprising heads of Callahanites attempting to follow his aerial example. But his worries were by no means over. Behind him, at the other end of the car, the enemy was trying to swarm up after him. He leaped into the breach and swung lustily at them. With the strategic advantage of a higher position in his favor, he finally forced them down, skipping around like a ballet dancer to elude the snatching hands making desperate attempts to seize his ankles.
For a second he thought all was lost as a big ham of a hand clasped a death-like grip on his left leg and jerked him down to his knees. Try as he would, he could not shake himself free. Another second and his imprisoned leg was over the side of the car and steadily being drawn down. In another minute he would be yanked clear and plunged down into the street in the midst of the embattled mob. In his agony of effort, he looked down and saw the red, straining face of Puggy Callahan. Holding his baseball bat like a billiard cue, Speedy plunged it into the stub nose of the Irishman with all his force. With a roar of pain, Callahan fell back. His locked fingers slipped from Speedy's leg. The lad was free. He quickly scurried back to the car top and scrambled to his feet.
Still the foe kept mounting up toward him. But ​Speedy, more wary now, stood back from them as far as he could and cracked skulls from a distance, though just as effectively.
From his eminence he had a chance to view the battle as a panorama and hurl down commands.
"Around the other side of the car, Barnett!" he shouted. "Four or five of you go with him. Quick!" he yelled, as he saw Schultz and his contingent about to be overwhelmed by greater numbers.
"Grab that blackjack, George!" he motioned to young George Feeley, frantically indicating a wicked little black weapon that had fallen from the hands of a vanquished Callahanite.
And now the De Lacey Street stalwarts were slowly but surely gaining the upper hand. The roughnecks had all been driven from the car. A space ten or more feet in diameter had been cleared between the car and the backs of Speedy's men, who were doggedly driving the invaders back and back.
A taxicab was parked at the curb down the street a half block from the fracas. The curtains were drawn. Speedy could not see the occupant, but he guessed that it was Steven Carter. In the next minute he was sure of it.
For Johnny Burke, the De Lacey Street cop, strangely absent from the scene all during the fight so far, came running up blowing his police whistle lustily. The curtain of the taxi was snapped up about halfway. An arm came out of it and waved in half circles for several seconds. Puggy Callahan started shouting commands and waving his hand also. And as suddenly as they had appeared, the ​men from the wharves turned and ran from the scene of their defeat. With a roar of its motor the taxi started after them. Speedy saw it stop with a jerk near Callahan. The door opened and Puggy jumped in. Then the cab leaped out again and careened madly down De Lacey Street. Carter and his lieutenant were fleeing the scene.
When three other policemen came running to join Burke, the fight was over. The attacking army had vanished, except for five or six of its members too badly wounded to rise from the street and follow. These were brought to their feet none too gently by the cops and taken into custody. Speedy's followers had no serious casualties, he quickly determined as he jumped down off his lofty perch on the car top and hastily inspected them as they stood in a victorious circle around the car. Several were nursing black eyes and other bruises. Barnett, the butcher, had his clothes nearly torn off him. Le Duc's face was bleeding from gashes made by brass knuckles, but the cuts were superficial. All were sweaty and grimy, but cheerful and quite proud of themselves.
Speedy shook hands with them enthusiastically and thanked them. No trouble at all; a pleasure rather, they informed him, and offered to fight again tomorrow if necessary.
"I don't believe they'll be back," Speedy declared. "They're not through yet, though. They'll think up something new."
Then he was taken in tow by Johnny Burke, who demanded an account of the brawl, its causes, progress and results, so that he could enter them in his ​little book. He wanted to know if Speedy desired to make charges against the Callahanites, now looking very weary and woebegone, left behind on the street by their fellows.
"No," said Speedy. "These fellows were only obeying orders. It's Callahan and particularly the master mind behind this thing that you want to get. And I haven't got enough direct evidence on him—yet—to make a charge stick, even if you entered it."
Meantime, having swapped their battle experiences in excited talk together, the De Lacey Streeters were slowly dispersing to their homes and shops to resume their workaday lives. Some of their women folks had circulated out into the street, anxious to know the fate of husband or son or both. They had watched the fight fearfully from windows and doors, where it looked even more vicious than it was. Most of the men had kept the impending rumpus a secret from the women, fearing that to tell them in advance would mean commands to keep out of the trouble, especially with that wild Swift boy enticing them to the fray. Now the women were busily examining the condition of their respective warriors and concealing their relief that things had turned out so well by scolding the triumphant males for minor catastrophes such as black eyes and ripped clothing.
Speedy watched the scene from the front platform of the car with a sympathetic grin. He knew these De Lacey Street women. Hard-working, sharptongued Trojan wives and mothers, but with hearts of gold when you needed them. But evidently none ​of them thought Speedy needed them now, for they were ignoring him except occasionally to cast dark looks at him, as if he alone were responsible for the disreputable appearance of their men and the risks they had just been through.
"We'll meet at the car tonight and talk it over!" Chris Walters, now in the custody of his wife, nearly as big as he, shouted back to Speedy.
"O.K.," replied Speedy.
"You'll do nothing of the kind—sitting in that stuffy car and figuring up more ways to break your neck," shrilled Mrs. Walters.
"Now, ma. Calm yourself," soothed Chris, patting her arm.
Speedy felt rather lonely at that moment. It must be rather nice to have somebody who loved you to come up protectively and inquire if you were hurt and even tongue-lash you a little for taking chances. He sighed. Then he braced himself and leaped down from the car and went up to inspect Nellie, who had stood patiently and quietly through the whole battle.
"How are you, old girl? All right?" asked Speedy, patting the animal on the nose and straightening up her head harness, which had been knocked slightly awry. Several times during the mêlée he had seen Nellie being pushed right and left by heaving bodies. Once she had snapped out of her lethargy long enough to lash out mildly at a Callahanite hurled against one of her hind legs and send him sliding on the paving with a well-planted hoof in his stomach.
​Speedy inspected the rest of her harness and found it intact. He picked up the reins from the street and lashed them around the control crank on the car platform. He walked around the car and carefully inspected it. Everything seemed to be shipshape outside except for three or four broken windows and a gash in the right side of the vehicle by some sharp weapon. He walked into the car and looked around. Like the street outside, pieces of torn clothing and a few caps lay around and there were a few rips in the seats. But the car was thoroughly seaworthy.
Speedy walked to the front platform, took up the lines and said "Gid-dap" to Nellie.
As calmly as if her progress had not been interrupted by as fierce a street battle as lower New York had ever witnessed, Nellie took up her journey at the same slow, even pace as always.
On the next corner a slim feminine figure came out and hailed the car. Speedy gave out an exclamation of pleasure. It was Jane. King Tut was at her feet. He stopped and took both of Jane's hands as she tripped lightly aboard. The little dog followed her.
"Oh, Harold," she cried, "I just got here at the end. I went to Daisy Ryan's office with her, did some shopping and came back just in time to see the last of the fighting. Are you hurt? No? You're sure? Oh, those awful men. I can see them yet. I thought surely they would pull you down off the car and you would be killed. How did it happen? Do tell me all about it." ​So Speedy related the progress of events since leaving her the previous evening. Nellie stood tolerantly by, waiting for the go-ahead signal.
"Then you really think Mr. Carter would do such a thing, that he's trying to get granddad's property away from him?" she asked almost incredibly when he had finished.
"I'm sure of it," said Speedy, "though I admit I can't prove it definitely yet. Oh, I know he's the kind of a fellow who appeals to the girls. He's well dressed and handsome and smooth tongued. But he's a bad one and I'll show the world so before I get through."
"Oh," cried Jane, "I wish granddad was back here. He'll be so angry that we didn't let him know. And I'm beginning to agree with you that Dr. Mason might have had some other motive than granddad's condition for sending him away. You don't suppose they've done anything awful to him up there in Connecticut, do you?"
"I don't think so," Speedy replied. "Carter is too foxy to do anything criminal. I believe he only wanted to get your grandfather out of New York for a few days so that he could prevent the car from running. I have a hunch he was to get hold of this franchise this week or not at all. The conversation I heard in the telephone booth up at the Yankee Stadium confirmed that.
"You know, I've got an idea some company wants to buy this franchise and Carter's trying to grab it and then sell it to them at a big profit. If we lick him, maybe this other company will appear and do ​business with your grandfather. I tell you what I'll do—tomorrow after I make a trip or two with the car I'll go up and call on the Inter-City people. They're the biggest transit outfit in town. And they have lines so situated that Pop's tracks might be valuable to them if they took a notion to connect up. That's what I'll do—go and see them. And if they're not interested, I'll call on some of the smaller companies."
"Wouldn't it be wonderful if they really did want to buy and offered a big sum?" Jane speculated. "Grandfather could retire and we could buy a house and everything. None of us would have to worry any more."
"Don't fool yourself—I'll have to worry plenty," declared Speedy grimly. "As soon as things clear up here, I'm going to hunt a job. A real one, no fooling, and I'm going to work my head off at it. I never really had anything to work for before, but I have now—Jane."
"Meaning?" asked Jane mischievously, as if she didn't know already.
"Meaning—you," said Speedy, looking into her eyes.
In spite of herself, she blushed. Both were silent for a moment.
"I brought your lunch," said Jane, changing the intimate subject and pointing to the little suitcase she was carrying, the same one they had lost for a while in the sand at Coney Island.
"All right, let's go," laughed Speedy.
He urged Nellie on and the old car took up its ​interrupted trip to the other end of the line and the car barn. Inside the barn Speedy put Nellie's feed bag on her and saw that she was comfortably started on her noonday repast. Then he joined Jane in the car, where she had spread out a neat luncheon of sandwiches, a thermos bottle of coffee and cake made with her own skillful hands. There was even a nice juicy bone for King Tut.
"It's great sitting here eating with you alone," declared Speedy, eating heartily of the delicious fare.
"It is fun," Jane admitted.
"Some day we'll be doing it right along," Speedy hinted.
"When granddad sells his franchise?"
"When I get that job!" emphasized Speedy.
They parted after the meal, Jane declaring that she had work to do around the house. Speedy made several uneventful trips with the car that afternoon, stopping only to buy a baseball extra from a shouting newsboy and learning that the Yankees had lost the second game of the World's Series. He met Jane at the Ryans that night for dinner, she having brought him an insistent invitation from Ma Ryan for both of them.
Speedy was forced to tell the story of the day's battle again and again to the army of Ryans congregated around the board, including Ma and Pa and children ranging from husky Danny to a baby of less than a year. Danny lamented the tough luck that had kept him from joining Speedy's forces.
"Say, what did you pull with the taxi yesterday ​that made Jerry Moore so mad?" Danny asked him curiously.
So Speedy had to tell his second epic of the evening, the account of his taxicab adventure with Babe Ruth and the cops at the Yankee Stadium.
"Well, you done wrong to desert the cab even if you did think you were going to be pinched," asserted Danny. "Moore tells us always to face the music rather than try and beat it from the cops. I don't blame him for firing you."
"Neither do I," said Speedy. "But it was sure a lucky break I did beat it into the Stadium. I would never have overheard that conversation over the telephone if I hadn't."
Speedy left them later to attend the meeting down in Pop's car. He was loath to desert Jane, but he felt that it would be ungracious of him if he did not join his battlers when they had done so much for him and Pop that day.
In the crowded car, the accustomed gathering being augmented by two score or more of the curious—so many that the car could not contain them all—the day's events were re-hashed again and again. Speedy was acclaimed the hero of the hour, though he modestly declined the honor and passed it on to Barnett, Walters and the others. The usual refreshments were produced and the assemblage did not break up until midnight.
If the boisterous celebrants had not still been talking excitedly and so intent upon their own business when they left the barn at that late hour, they might ​have noticed three or four dark shadows with singularly human outlines lurking between the barn and the shop next door. And if, having caught sight of the shadows, they had played a flashlight upon them, they might not have been so sure that De Lacey Street had seen the last of the Callahans.
King Tut, having left a bone, on which a few fragments of meat still remained, in the car, scampered playfully beside Harold up the dark street.