# Speedy (Holman)/Chapter 11

When Jane Dillon parted from Steven Carter in front of her house, following their taxi ride downtown from the Biltmore, it was with her first vague feeling of uneasiness toward the Dillons' star boarder. Under ordinary circumstances she might have been a little flattered with the regard for her which this handsome, well-groomed stranger expressed. What girl of her age, with little experience with men, wouldn't be? But Carter had been too precipitous in his signs of affection for a girl of Jane's modesty and innocence. . Besides, there kept recurring to her the suspicious attitude which Speedy took toward the man.
Speedy, she admitted to herself, was seldom wrong in his judgment of people, though, to be sure, in this case it might be that jealousy was coloring his opinions. That must be it—jealousy. Surely so obviously well-bred a gentleman as Carter could have no dealings with the type of thug who had nearly ruined her grandfather.
And, she recalled, Carter had desisted in his attentions in the taxicab as soon as she mildly rebuked him. His parting from her had been almost formal in its politeness. She began to feel more kindly to him.
She entered the house. There was no use for the present to call Daisy Ryan on the telephone. Daisy ​was a salesgirl in a department store and did not get home until six o'clock or after. Jane busied herself about the empty house, straightening things up and finally sitting down and accomplishing a bit of sewing. Around six o'clock, she packed a small handbag with her night things. She telephoned Daisy and found her in. Of course, Daisy said, she would be delighted to have Jane with her for the night. She added an invitation to dinner. But Jane declined this, declaring over the phone that the Dillon ice-box contained a suitable repast for herself, edibles that would spoil overnight if they weren't consumed at once. The real reason for politely declining the invitation was that Jane knew the Ryans had too many mouths to feed, as it was, and too little money with which to buy the wherewithal to feed them.
Jane set herself out a modest fare on the kitchen table, brewed a pot of tea and sat down to eat alone. Pop generally had supper with her and a pang of lonesomeness clutched her heart at the sight of the empty chair on the other side of the table. Speedy, too, often kept them company at this evening meal. She wondered where he was now and where he had been all day. Even King Tut was outdoors somewhere. However, of a natural buoyant temperament, she soon cheered up.
Having cleared away the dinner things, she went into the living room and sat down on the divan with her sewing, intending to give the Ryans a chance to finish their dinner before joining them. It was at this point that Steven Carter let himself into the ​house. He looked in through the living-room door on his way down the hall.
"Just dropped in to get my things," he called cheerfully. "I'm spending the night uptown."
He reappeared a few minutes later with his suitcase and, entering the living room, set the bag down and took a chair opposite Jane.
"Miss Dillon," he said, "I want to apologize again for my action this afternoon. I was acad. Please forgive me and believe that I meant no harm."
"I've forgotten all about it," smiled Jane lightly but not quite truthfully. "There was nothing to forgive."
"I had hoped we would become very—er—good friends," Carter went on.
"I hope so," replied Jane. He looked so the figure of downcast contrition and apology that she was almost sorry for him.
It was this tête-à-tête that Speedy interrupted as he burst into the living room. He fairly glowered as he saw the pair together and seemingly on such good terms. Carter arose at once at the appearance of Speedy, quickly banishing an annoyed frown with a smile of artificial welcome.
"Where's Pop?" Speedy asked abruptly, ignoring the greetings of both Jane and Carter.
"Why, he went out of town this morning. He—" Jane started to explain.
"Did he make a run with the car today?" asked Speedy anxiously.
"Oh, yes. But the neighbors held a celebration for him and the excitement was too much. He ​fainted away. Mr. Carter was kind enough to bring a doctor. And the doctor ordered granddad away to Connecticut for a few days."
"Oh, is that so?" exclaimed Speedy, as though this only confirmed a suspicion. "Did you investigate this doctor friend of Mr. Carter's?"
Carter took a step toward Speedy and looked him in the eye.
"Dr. Mason is a reputable physician and a very good one," said Carter sharply. "Mr. Dillon is in very bad shape, especially after this morning, and Dr. Mason ordered him out of town to save him a breakdown and some very serious consequences."
"You don't mean to tell me that Pop Dillon went away and left nobody to drive his car for him, do you? After he's been holding onto this franchise for all these years?" demanded Speedy.
Jane, who was becoming vexed with Speedy's belligerent attitude, now cut in.
"Mr. Carter arranged for a very good man to drive the car tomorrow and every day until granddad comes back," she declared.
"Oh, Mr. Carter did, did he?" Speedy mocked. "Well, I—"
Carter advanced still further upon him and there was a menacing glint in his dark eyes. Speedy held his ground, clenching his fists and acting as if he would welcome an attack from the stranger.
"Look here, Swift," Carter asked. "Just what are you getting at anyway?"
"I'm not going to explain now," Speedy said. "I don't know all the details yet myself, but the thing ​is gradually clearing up. All I know is that there's dirty work going on and you, Mr. Carter, are in a scheme to cheat Pop Dillon out of his franchise."
Carter made a movement as if to start physical hostilities. His face grew tense and his eyes narrowed. But evidently he thought better of it, for he gave a short, unpleasant laugh, relaxed and asked, "And what would I want of this franchise? It isn't worth anything."
Jane, the peacemaker, stepped in. "Why, of course, Harold, your charges are ridiculous," she said. "We've both of us often heard granddad say the franchise isn't worth a hundred dollars. The only possibly valuable thing is the ground on which the car barn stands and that's so small that it's not much good for practical purposes."
"If you ask me, Miss Dillon," sneered Carter, encouraged by the support of Jane, "I believe, as I told you before, your friend, Mr. Swift, is jealous of me. That's the real motive for his absurd conduct."
Jane nodded in agreement. She really believed it.
She turned on Speedy. "I think Mr. Carter is right," she asserted. "And I'm ashamed of you for acting like this, after all Mr. Carter has done for us and for granddad."
Speedy gave a baffled sigh. He had expected opposition from Carter, of course, but he had not counted upon Jane lending support to the enemy. He wondered if this clever knave had actually fascinated Jane; if there was good cause for feeling ​jealous of this man. He marveled at the hold this fellow must have over the Dillons, to have persuaded the usually shrewd and stubborn Pop to leave town at the time of this crisis in the affairs of the Crosstown Railways. For an instant he had an impulse, since both Jane and Pop were apparently resolved to let Carter get away with his underhanded work, to abandon them to their fate.
But Speedy was a fighter. And he was deeply fond of Jane and Pop. He generously attributed their yielding to Carter as due to their lack of knowledge of the man's true character. Speedy threw back his shoulders and stuck out his chin. He would battle this thing out in spite of what he knew was a very clever enemy, battle it out all alone if necessary.
He attempted to take Jane by the arm, but she stepped away from him.
"Listen, Jane," he coaxed. "Mr. Carter can fool you, and maybe Pop, but I've got the goods on him and he's not going to get away with anything around here. Who's this fellow who's supposed to be running the car tomorrow?"
Carter replied, "He's a very competent man and he'll be here promptly in the morning."
"Is his name Callahan?" Speedy snapped significantly.
Carter started, paled a little. He recovered.
"No, that doesn't happen to be the name," Carter explained.
"But he works for Callahan—and you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," said ​Carter impatiently, with an appealing glance at Jane to please stop this madman. "I'm not acquainted with anybody named Callahan."
"Oh, is that so?" nodded Speedy. "Well, you can tell your driver, Callahan or Al Murphy or whoever he is, that he needn't bother to report tomorrow. I'm going to run that car tomorrow and every day until Pop gets home. And I don't believe he'll be away very long at that."
Carter became visibly anxious for the first time since the argument started.
"I guess Miss Dillon will have something to say about that," he insisted. "She's in charge of the line while her grandfather's away. That's right, isn't it, Miss Dillon?"
Jane was frankly worried. Angry though she tried to be with Speedy for creating a scene, it gradually became impressed upon her that where there was so much smoke there must be fire. Speedy did not accuse people of things unless he had evidence. Usually very mild in temper, he did not become wrought up this way for nothing. However rattle-brained he was in some respects, he had always been on the level, a person you could trust. She had listened attentively to the conversation, watching Carter's face closely, and she had observed little things that made her wary of him. She began to think there was some truth in what Speedy was saying.
"Jane, you'll let me drive the car, won't you?" Speedy asked. "I lost my job on the taxi today. I'm out of work. I need something to do. And it's ​vitally important that I take charge of the car with Pop away. I can't take time to explain things now and I wouldn't anyway in front of this man. Put the thing on the basis that I'm an old friend and I'm out of a job and you're helping me out by giving me one driving the car."
"Is that the height of your ambition—driving a horse car?" Jane asked, sparring for time.
"My ambition is to drive this particular horse car," Speedy said vehemently.
"It's ridiculous," Carter interrupted. "This was all talked over with Mr. Dillon before he left and he agreed that a man furnished by me was to drive the car. Now—"
"All right," said Speedy brightly. "Call Pop on the 'phone and we'll both talk to him. I'll tell him what I've found out about you and he can decide what he wants to do."
Carter flushed. As Speedy knew, he would not welcome having Pop Dillon hear that trouble was brewing. The old man would be on the scene himself in a jiffy.
"Nevertheless, Mr. Carter," Jane declared firmly. "I believe I'll appoint Harold to drive the car. As he says, he's out of a job and granddad and I as old friends of his ought to help him. Besides, he's been on the car before and understands all about it. I'm sure you can explain to the driver you had coming that this emergency has happened and I hired Harold. He'll understand, I'm sure. And I'm very much obliged to you for the trouble you've taken."
Carter for an instant caught himself in the un​familiar attitude of staring, mouth agape, at a lady. He had confidently expected Jane to support him and dismiss Speedy's claim to run the car. This was an unlooked-for development. It meant a change in plans, another trip over to the Callahan clan. He thought rapidly. All right, if this chap Swift was looking for trouble, he'd get it plenty. No trip would be made with that car tomorrow, whether Swift was aboard or not!
Speedy sensed what was passing through Carter's mind. He knew it boded no good. The older man shrugged his trim shoulders and summoned a smile that was half a threat and half sarcasm to his face.
"Very well, I yield to Swift—at your wishes, Miss Dillon," he said. "I trust when the day is over tomorrow, Miss Dillon, that you will not have made a mistake in your decision—nor Swift in his. As I said once before, it's a tough neighborhood and accidents will happen."
"No accident will happen," retorted Speedy. "But if one does, I'll be prepared for it."
Carter bade them a polite good night. He had business to transact with Puggy Callahan.
When he had gone, Jane looked appealingly, helplessly, to Speedy and asked, "Oh, Harold, what is it all about? I'm so frightened, with granddad away and all."
Speedy patted her soft shoulder.
"Don't worry," he quieted her. "Everything's going to be all right, now that you've decided to trust it to me. Were you going out for the night?" Jane told him that she was visiting Daisy Ryan. ​"Good," said Speedy. "You have a good sleep and don't worry a bit. I'll walk down there with you."
He left her at the Ryans' door, after being told by Mrs. Ryan that Danny had 'phoned he was taking a party to Greenwich and wouldn't be home until late. Speedy had wanted to talk things over with Dan, a wise counsellor.
"One more thing before I leave," he told Jane. "What's Pop's address in Connecticut?" She gave it to him—Spring Lake Sanitarium.
"Oh, Harold, is it going to be dangerous tomorrow? Is something terrible going to happen? I feel it is!" she cried.
"No, no. Don't think about it a bit," he laughed.
The Ryans had gone back into the house after opening the door for her. Jane suddenly reached up, threw her arms around Harold's neck and kissed him! Before he could do anything about it, she had fled back into the house and slammed the door shut. He looked at the door, as if expecting it to open again. A wistful smile flitted across his sensitive young face. He put his fingers tentatively to the mouth that her sweet lips had just touched. He felt all warm inside. He was quite sure now that she loved and trusted him. It gave him the strength and confidence of a lion. Throwing out his chest, he stuck his hands in his pocket and walked quickly toward Broadway.
Come home at once. Important developments your franchise.Harold.
Having despatched the wire, he headed back toward De Lacey Street. It was Thursday night and he knew where to find the bulk of the man power of the neighborhood. For years they had used Pop Dillon's car as a club house in which to play poker and smoke and swap stories two or three nights a week. Thursday was always a big meeting night.
Sure enough, when he arrived in front of the Crosstown car barn, he saw a light burning within. He entered the barn, dark save for the beams shining from the old car. A long narrow table, made especially for the purpose by a De Lacey Street carpenter, one of the "club" members, stretched half the length of the car in the aisle. The seats on both sides were occupied by good solid citizens of New York of all ages from thirty-five up, huddled as tightly as they could be packed, all intent upon the game and clouding the atmosphere with the smoke from their pipes and cigars. Most of the occupants were elderly, and a beard seemed to be the most popular sign of membership. The low, confused murmur that always arises from a card game in which many people participate came to Speedy from the car interior.
As he mounted the step and walked into the car, Chris Walters with a triumphant shout and slapping of his neighbor's back won a well-played and difficult hand.
"You can't bluff me, Adam! You've got to have ​them to win!" Chris cried triumphantly to the man who got slapped, Schultz, who kept the cigar store outside which an ancient wooden Indian, symbol of the Gay Nineties, still held forth his pack of cheroots.
"You're just lucky, Chris. Another raise and you would have thrown the cards down," bantered Gordon, the sandy-whiskered little Scotchman, proprietor of the stationery shop next door to the car barn.
"Stop the gab and deal, Sandy," cut in the bearded Rankin, patriarch of the party, a retired tugboat captain.
"Ante up, gentlemen. The kitty craves nourishment," warned Le Duc, the portly French Canadian to whose little jewelry store Fifth Avenue dowagers brought their expensive watches for repair because of the uncanny skill that still lingered in his gnarled fingers and still keen eyes.
Speedy, still unnoticed by the cronies, intent upon their game, looked around the table with satisfaction. Ten players were taking part in the evening's diversion. Six or more others, either seated or standing over the shoulders of the participants, were watching the proceedings with keen interest. All were solid citizens of the neighborhood, bent upon an evening's innocent diversion. All were comrades of long standing, bound together like a Scottish clan. And all were friends of Pop Dillon. They had called up Jane when Pop failed to appear that night, and had learned the reason for his absence. It was his first failure in years to sit in their game and there had been an impulse at first to call it off for the evening. But they knew that Pop would not ap​prove of this. So Chris Walters had secured the key to the car barn from Jane and the "club" had assembled as usual. But all felt that something vital was missing, and that something was the genial Pop.
They had watched sympathetically for years Pop's struggle to hold his property, which was apparently decreasing in value every month. They appreciated his reason for hanging on to it—the possible coming of a day when he would be offered a large sum of money to sell it to one of the electric traction companies. Speedy knew that they would bitterly resent any attempt to take it away from him by underhanded methods. He was confident they would join him in fighting the invaders.
He waited until Sandy Gordon had won the next hand. Then he stepped up beside Chris Walters at the head of the table. All of the venerable heads turned in his direction as they realized from his flushed and earnest appearance that he had something important to say to them. They knew Speedy. They liked him and on many occasions had lamented his inability to find himself and get along in the world.
"I guess you men know why Pop Dillon isn't here tonight," said Speedy. "He was beat up by a thug yesterday and a fake doctor sent him away to a sanitarium in Connecticut. Yes, a fake doctor! Never mind how I know that; you'll have to take my word for it for the time being. But Pop won't be away long. I've sent him a wire to hurry back home as quick as he can and he'll be here tomorrow, ​or the next day at the latest. But, meantime, we, as his friends, will probably have to act, and act quick and hard, to protect him.
"I've found out that certain crooked interests are going to try and cheat him out of his franchise. They planned to keep the car from running tomorrow, which, as you know, means the forfeiting of Pop's franchise. To make sure the car goes out, I got Jane Dillon's permission to take charge of it myself. But I don't believe I'm going to be able to run it without a fight. I have a hunch this same gang of thugs will be down here tomorrow in full force to try and take me off the car. I can't say for sure and I'm not in the position yet to appeal to the police. Besides, I believe we people of De Lacey Street can settle this thing in our own way.
"We all like Pop and we'll fight for him. You're a ted-blooded bunch of men and you've still got plenty of pep in you to offer a battle. If that gang of gunmen comes down here tomorrow and attacks me and the car, will you help me? That's all I want to know!"
Immediately the smoky air was full of exclamations of surprise and defiance and a multitude of questions, Speedy tried to answer them as best he could. They did not doubt for a moment what he told them. The previous assault of Pop and the air of menace that had seemed to hang over the street during the past few days confirmed his words. Many of them had seen Carter and had disliked him on sight.
"Sure we'll fight!" roared the husky Walters. ​"My old ball bat can still crack a few heads for Pop. And you can count on my two sons too. Fighting's their middle names."
"Bring on your thugs. We'll give them warm welcome," declared husky Barnett, the butcher, who weighed two hundred pounds and had once been a prominent amateur boxer.
"It vill be a pleasure," smiled Schultz, Turnverein trained.
The others all chimed in with similar promises and threats of useful violence.
"All right," said the excited and pleased Speedy. "I knew I could count on you. One thing more—we've got to have a leader and, since I'll probably be the center of attack and see the thugs first, I'm going to be immodest and appoint myself. Will you agree, in the absence of Pop, to follow me?"
"Yes!" came the resounding chorus.
"Fine!" cried Speedy. He thought a second. "I'll have to give you a signal when I know for sure that there's going to be trouble," he went on. "I'll tell you what: I remember my grandfather telling me once how in Civil War days one fellow used to warn another secretly that a fracas was coming by saying, 'It looks like rain.' When he said that, all of his friends would know to be on their guard. So, tomorrow when I drive the car and see that I'm going to be in for it, I'll lean out and say, 'It looks like rain,' as I pass you fellows on the street. Then, when the attack is on and I need you men to come a-running and get busy, I'll yell, 'It looks like rain!' as loud as I can. Is it a go?"
​The De Lacey Street Car Barn "Club" approved in a body and a roar.
"Good!" said Speedy. "Put on your fighting togs tomorrow and bring along any weapons, except guns, that may be handy. Anything just short of murder will be fair in handling these tough customers we'll have against us."
The card game was forgotten. The old car was a-buzz with discussion of Speedy's message and a hot reception for the attackers on the morrow.
About ten o'clock Adam Schultz, who could always be counted upon to be hungry at all hours, suggested, "Vat about the pot luck, boys? Ve'll need to eat so ve'll have our strength for tomorrow."
It was the custom of the poker players and their onlookers to bring a "pot luck" meal to their weekly meetings. Every man supplied a portion, each to his taste and that of his cronies. Packages were immediately produced from their positions at the feet of those present. Walters contributed ginger ale and other soft drinks from his delicatessen. Schultz had cigars, cigarettes and pipe tobacco. Le Duc offered charlotte russes. Barnett drew exclamations of pleasure as he handed out big roast beef sandwiches. There were more sandwiches from other members, pickles, sauerkraut, hot dogs and other delicacies. There was even coffee from two large thermos bottles.
The feast was spread out on the table. The occupants of the car went to it with a will. Though he was not a contributor, eats were thrust upon ​Speedy in more profusion than he could handle them. laws were worked overtime. The poker players were hardy eaters and were very frank about the fact.
When it came time for the meeting to break up, Speedy repeated his battle instructions for the morrow. The car was carefully swept with the two old brooms and the dust pan located in the corner of the barn. The De Lacey Streeters trooped out of their rendezvous, gorged with food and fiery with threats for Carter's cohorts. Chris Walters turned over the key to the barn to Speedy.
"See you tomorrow, bright and early," Speedy sang out as he left them.
"We'll be there!" came with a whoop from a dozen or more throats. "We'll be watching from our stores and houses. And several of us will make it a point to pass you when you drive the car, so we can get the signal."