# Speedy (Holman)/Chapter 14

The taxi which Speedy had hailed careened a little crazily up to the curb. It was neither a new nor a fast-looking cab. It was a Henry car of the vintage before Henry went modern. But the ruddy, Irish-faced driver looked good-natured and willing.
He protested a little, however, as Speedy fairly tore the door of his chariot off in his eagerness to get aboard and get started.
"Whoa, there, buddy—this cab ain't no spring chicken!" mentioned the driver.
"Well, she better sprout some wings then, old kid, because I'm in a terrible hurry. Go ahead—get started!' shouted Speedy.
"In that case you better tell me where you want to go. I ain't a mind reader," cheerfully advised the chauffeur.
"That's right," admitted Speedy. "Lincoln Ferry Slip—foot of 60th Street. Know where that is?"
"Sure. And there ain't anybody been there since the guy they named the Slip after, either. But that's your business, buddy. Slam shut the door and we're off."
"Give her everything you've got, will you? I'm in a hurry!"
​"Sure. But hang on tight, buddy. I can stand it if you can."
The instant before Speedy closed the taxi door, a little wire-haired mite leaped in past his legs. King Tut had enlisted for the "duration of the war" and he wasn't going to be left behind. Speedy drew the excited little animal onto the seat beside him. The framed warning card fastened to the back of the driver's seat proclaimed the charioteer's name as Michael Cassidy.
Cassidy shifted his gears into high and with a lurch the wild ride had begun.
The taxi rattled and banged up Third Avenue, protesting in every joint against the speed which its driver was accommodatingly trying to force out of it. But after a block of progress, the warning white gloved hand of a traffic cop forced a temporary halt in a sea of other vehicles. Speedy groaned.
"Gosh, you can lick these signals if you try," he urged the driver. "I used to drive a cab myself. You can beat them if you're smart."
"Well, I been drivin' 'em off and on for ten years, buddy," calmly answered Cassidy. "You can beat 'em if you don't mind a ticket. But think of me wife and kiddies. However—here we go again!"
With a screech of ancient and not-too-well-oiled machinery the cab rattled on its way. This time they covered three blocks before the ubiquitous custodian of the peace in a blue uniform waved the uptown sea of traffic to a halt. Speedy pulled out his watch. Five minutes had already passed and ​they had only covered four blocks. To make matters worse, Cassidy was now leaning out of the window and looking down toward his right front wheel, whence a thin wisp of steam was issuing.
"What's the matter?" called Speedy. "Is this old can going on the blink?"
"Cooling system ain't workin' too well," admitted Cassidy. "But she'll hold out all right. She always has."
The cop's whistle shrilled and the jerky journey was resumed. They reeled off six blocks without interruption and Speedy began to breathe more easily. But clouds of steam were now unmistakably billowing up from the radiator of the car, even covering the front of the windshield and obscuring the driver's view. Suddenly Cassidy whirled the car around the corner at right angles and on two wheels and, before Speedy could protest, they had darted into a garage. Speedy and Cassidy tumbled out of the car almost together.
"Hey, what's the idea?" accosted Speedy. "Haven't I got trouble enough without this happening?"
"Just a second, buddy," soothed Mike Cassidy. "I'll dump a little cold water in the radiator and she'll be O.K."
But at that instant both jumped six inches off the floor of the garage as a siren sounded just in front of them. They looked up to find a closed car, with engine running and a greasy, overalled mechanic at the wheel, looming the other side of the taxi. The word "Ambulance" was written across ​the front of this vehicle just over the driver's seat. Cassidy's taxi had cut off the exit for the ambulance just as it was about to make its way out of the garage.
"Get that tin lizzy out of the way there, taxi," shouted the garage man on the seat of the sick-wagon; "don't you know ambulances have the right of way?"
Cassidy obediently mounted his tin horse and slid it a few feet forward. Speedy, meantime, was looking rapidly from the taxi's steaming radiator to the spick and span ambulance. A wild hunch leaped into his head.
"Hey, where are you going with that stiff-cart?" he asked the ambulance driver eagerly.
"Delivering it up to the Chandler Hospital. Why?" the latter replied.
"That's on 72nd Street, isn't it?"
The driver nodded.
"Fine. I'll ride along with you. I'm in a hurry and this traveling junk pile I hired has busted down. Do you mind?"
"O.K. Hop aboard."
Speedy tossed Cassidy a quarter and was in the ambulance seat in a jiffy. But not any more quickly than King Tut.
With a snort the ambulance slid smoothly out of the garage and was on its way uptown.
"Say, slip it the gas, will you, mister. I'm in a hurry," pleaded Speedy.
"All right. They can't pinch me in this outfit," agreed the mechanic.
​"Show some real speed and I'll pump the siren," cajoled Speedy.
In answer the driver pressed the gas, the ambulance swung into that break-neck gait characteristic of New York emergency wagons and Speedy, exulting inwardly, sounded the ear-splitting siren with all his might. Traffic parted in front of them. Policemen at the corners halted the crosstown stream of vehicles and motioned them on. Perhaps the policemen missed the usual white coated chauffeur at the wheel and the similarly clad interne swinging from the strap on the back step. But by the time the bluecoats had puzzled over their absence, the ambulance was already a full block away.
"Swing to the left at 59th. I want to go down to the river," suggested Speedy between gasps for breath. The siren-pumping was hard work and the speed almost choked him.
"All right, kid," replied the driver. "This is fine as long as it lasts. Haven't had a whirl like this since I was a despatch rider in France."
In another few minutes they had swung around the corner and were headed west. Emergency brakes were clamped on approaching cars. Horses were frantically reined in. Sidewalk pedestrians craned their necks at the wildly sounding siren and stared after it when it had passed. The ambulance continued to breeze along like the wind. Fifth Avenue was reached. Fifth Avenue was passed. Then Broadway. At last the river shining in the sun between the dock buildings appeared in the dis​tance. And finally Speedy's destination was attained. The dilapidated, half-tumbled-down Lincoln Ferry Slip was directly in front of them.
"Here's where I get out," Speedy informed the accommodating driver.
"How are you? All there?" inquired that individual good-naturedly. "If you're broken up, I'll take you right along up to the hospital."
But Speedy was already on the ground, King Tut at his feet.
"Thanks a million times," he said. "You saved my life. Good luck the rest of your trip."
"I'll take it easy and cool this baby off before I deliver her," said the driver. "We were supposed to have repaired her. I guess maybe I loosened her up again."
"I hope not," said Speedy, impatient to be off.
"Don't worry," said the driver and in a second had turned around and was proceeding back up the street at a decorous pace.
Speedy at once walked briskly up to the weather-beaten ferry house. The place had not been in active use for twenty years and it was a miracle it had not long since been torn down to make way for the huge modern piers that lined the river on both sides of it. Directly in front of Speedy was the open runway of the ferry slip, reaching from street to river, down which wagons used to rumble to the boats. This was still covered with a roof, though the roof was fast caving in from age. The covering was enough to cast the runway into dark shadows and Speedy saw that a close inspection would ​be necessary to determine whether or not the missing horse car was hidden in there. He wondered uneasily if the planking were secure. Suppose it should give way with him, plunging him into the river. He looked quickly around him. Not a person was in sight. This was both reassuring and disconcerting at the same time. He was glad none of the Callahanites were on guard. But there were also the unwelcome knowledge that there would be nobody to rescue him from a watery grave if anything happened. However, he was a good swimmer and this was no time to be backward.
He walked briskly into the shadows of the old ferry house and peered around. Then he cautiously made his way out through the almost complete blackness toward the river. He slid cautiously past several open spaces in the planking through which he could see the oily depths of the river menacingly below.
There was not a sign of the car anywhere.
Reaching the end of his inspection trip, he stood for a minute looking across the water, alive with fretty little tugs, barges and the customary river craft, to the opposite shore. He was baffled. With a sigh he turned slowly and started to walk back to the street. When he was once again in the sunlight, he again hesitated. What to do now? Evidently he had been too optimistic in interpreting the conversation of Joe and Puggy as a direct clew to the whereabouts of the precious car. Could it be that Puggy had, after all, recognized him and deliberately allowed him to listen to a fake steer? Surely ​that would be giving the thug credit for too much cleverness!
At that moment King Tut, who had been foraging about the neighborhood, sniffing as he foraged, came trotting up to Speedy. He tugged at his master's trousers. At first Speedy paid no attention to the animal, except to reach down absent-mindedly and pat his head. But now King Tut barked eagerly, agitatedly. Speedy looked down at him. The dog ran a few steps and stopped, as if urging the youth to follow. When Speedy attempted to call him back, King Tut, instead, ran over to a barn-like little shed next door to the ferry house and, standing in front of the half rotting door, barked more loudly than ever. Speedy had not noticed this shed before and now for a moment thought that Tut had probably located a stray cat in there, or something to eat. Nevertheless, he determined to investigate.
Reaching the shed, he saw that the entrance to it was barred by a half-tumbled-down door that had once slid by means of rollers on a metal runway at the top. What aroused his interest at once was the fact that new nails had apparently been driven in both sides of this door in order to hold it in place. Speedy at once seized the door and attempted to open it by brute force, of which he had plenty. It refused to budge. Abandoning this attempt for a few seconds, he hurried around the side of the shed and searched the ground for some mechanical means of forcing the door open. He was almost at once rewarded by nearly stumbling over a little pile of ​long abandoned, rusty iron pipes hidden in the tall grass.
Arming himself with one of these, he hurried back to the door. Ramming the pipe through an opening between the door's edge and the jamb, he flung himself against it several times. After nearly ten minutes of yeoman labor, the door started to give. Once loosened, it came with a rush. Speedy and King Tut had barely time to jump out from under as the door crashed down, a cloud of dust rising in its wake.
King Tut yelped and dashed into the shed. Speedy followed. Success! More success than he had even dared hope for! There stood Pop Dillon's horse car, seemingly intact.
But where was Nellie?
The horse car was of no use without its means of locomotion. King Tut had at once leaped into the car. Speedy now followed. And there inside the car he came upon Nellie herself, calmly looking around as if she were serenely confident rescue would come in good time. Speedy felt like leaping for joy. King Tut was sharing his enthusiasm, but for a different reason. The little dog had discovered what had all the time been urging him toward the shed. He had on the previous night parked his precious bone in the car and he wanted it. Now he had it and was poceeding to enjoy to the full the succulent residue of meat left on it.
Speedy pulled out his watch. Ten minutes to four! Not a minute to be lost. He carefully led Nellie to the front of the car and down the steps. ​With frantic haste he hitched her up. The Callahans, for a wonder, had left her harness intact. Then Speedy mounted to the driver's platform and cautiously backed Nellie up until they were in the street and clear of the shed. He turned the car around so that it was facing west.
"Gid-dap," shouted Speedy, slapping Nellie over her broad back with the looped end of the lines.
"Come along, Nellie. Speed it up, old girl," he urged.
The horse broke into a trot.
"Faster, Nellie," Speedy pleaded. She obeyed. Nellie had once been a fire engine horse and she seemed to sniff a whiff of the old days. Soon she was running.
A block or two on his journey, people on the sidewalk began to stare at the strange sight of the decrepit old horse car, the speeding nag with the flapping straw hat over her ears and the excited youth who was urging her on. But they did not stare for long. New Yorkers are used to strange sights. "Probably an ad for a new movie," they told each other. "What won't those people think of next!"
"Whoa, Methuselah," came a heavy, authoritative voice as Speedy was about to cross a bisecting street. One of those aggravating traffic cops was again halting his speeding parade. Speedy groaned anew. Not even horse cars that simply must break all speed records were safe from traffic cops. He would have to find some way of circumventing this. He looked anxiously about him. Finally the ​cop let him pass amid the jeers, sarcastic cheers and wise cracks of the people on the corner.
A half block further along Providence apparently had planted Speedy's salvation.
A huge painted sign proclaimed "Cohen's Uniform Shop." The sidewalk outside this gaudy emporium seemed to be cluttered up with policemen, firemen and subway conductors. Speedy's roving eye caught sight of this strange array. He looked more closely. He yelled "Whoa!" to Nellie and stopped. To scurry across the street to the shop front was the work of only an instant. He grabbed up one of the dummy wax figures displaying the official uniform of a New York policeman and dashed back to the car. Mounting his platform and holding the blue-coated wax-mannikin with one hand, he seized the lines with the other and urged Nellie into a swifter run. He cast one swift glance backward. Enough to tell him that the proprietor of the store had spotted the theft and was now standing outside, bare-headed, shouting and wildly gesticulating. Speedy decided that he had better get out of there quickly. Nellie started madly to gallop.
At the next corner Speedy held his breath. Would his stratagem work? Paying no heed to the cop's lifted hand, he pointed frantically to the figure of the dummy policeman beside him on the platform, indicating that he was speeding along on a very special mission under police protection. The real policeman standing in the middle of the street looked uncertain and bewildered. He was only partially deceived. But Speedy was again fortunate. He had ​picked a dummy wearing the uniform of a police lieutenant, and the traffic cop did not dare risk offending a superior, phoney as the latter looked. He motioned Speedy on.
The horse car had not slackened its pace during those critical seconds. It was now careening madly from side to side with its unaccustomed speed. Elated by his luck, Speedy determined to follow the shortest route to De Lacey Street by roaring right down Broadway!
He swung to the right into the famous and very crowded thoroughfare. Nellie was stepping out like a thoroughbred. She seemed to be making almost as good time as the ambulance that had whirled Speedy up to the ferry slip.
The heavy traffic on New York's principal artery proved more of a blessing than a hindrance. Speedy worked an arm of the fake police lieutenant with one of his own hands in order to wave the trucks and automobiles out of the way. They obediently scattered at the sight of the stern-looking bluecoat. A few, very close by, recognized that the cop was a fraud, but smiled good-naturedly, believing again that Speedy was perpetrating an advertising stunt. Nellie, a veteran New York horse and used to navigating in a heavy sea of cars, wove in and out of the traffic at top speed.
Policemen at the corners, catching sight of the gold braid on the front of the strange approaching vehicle, which darted out suddenly from the shield of other cars and crossed the streets, gravely saluted the supposed lieutenant and urged the horse car on. ​Perceiving that they evidently expected something in return, Speedy brought the hand of his "police guard" to its head and returned the salutes!
It was too good to last, thought Speedy, though he was praying that he would get away with it for just twenty more minutes or so. He had crossed 42nd Street, the crossroads of the world, by this time and was still going strong.
Ten blocks further on, he made his almost fatal blunder. He was forced to pass very close to the policeman on the corner, something he had heretofore been able to avoid. But the cop, evidently as much deceived as had been his brother bluecoats farther uptown, snapped to a salute. With danger so near, almost within arm's length, Speedy clutched the "lieutenant's" wrist nervously to return the salute and did not bring the limp hand up quite far enough. The hand did not reach the peak of the cap. It only got as far as the nose! The "lieutenant's" thumb pressed against his nose.
The traffic cop, astonished, stared sharply. In a flash he recognized the hoax that had been put over on him. Speedy, meantime, had smitten Nellie sharply across the back. She broke into a more furious gallop than ever. It was now or never! A police whistle shrilled behind him. The fat cop was shouting. A block down Broadway another policeman on horseback straightened up to attention at the tocsin of alarm. His insulted fellow bluecoat was evidently pointing to the reeling horse car. The mounted cop urged his own horse forward and started in furious pursuit. The chase was on!
​What followed was a nightmare. Policemen seemed to leap from every nook and corner. Whistles were blowing. Cops were shouting. Pedestrians on the sidewalk and in the middle of the street were yelling. Even motormen on the surface cars were clanging their bells. The world seemed to have suddenly rushed to the conclusion that this crazy horse car relic of old New York had fallen into the hands of a speed-mad lunatic, and probably a criminal to boot! Fortunately all this agitation was still in Speedy's wake.
He swung into a crosstown street, seeking quieter climes, attempting to shake off the pursuit. But when he returned to Broadway the hue and cry was apparently still raging. But now he was nearing his goal! He cut eastward toward De Lacey, the hoofs of the pursuing mounted cop's horse rattling in his rear, seemingly synchronized by some unseen cue artist with the flying feet of Nellie. Pop Dillon's horse car was creaking and groaning. Speedy wondered wildly if it would really hold together until he reached the Crosstown Railways. If only he could make that one trip and save the franchise, they could send him to jail if they wanted to! If he only had time to stop and catch his breath, he knew he could explain everything. But to do that would be fatal, would take precious minutes. Speed! Speed! "Come on, Nellie! Only a few blocks more!"
The Elevated Railway span of the Bowery loomed in the near distance. He reached that renowned highway and hurtled into it. He was nearing his ​own neighborhood now. If only he could shake off that eternal medley of cops' whistles and flying horses' hoofs. Thank goodness they had not enlisted a motorcycle cop in the chase. That would have been his finish.
Now at last he reached the intersection of De Lacey Street and the Bowery and turned left again.
Five minutes later he caught sight of the glistening parallel rails of the Crosstown Railways. A fleeting glimpse of a clock on a pole in front of a jewelry store told him that it was twenty-five minutes past four! Just in time to make one round trip, if Nellie and the car held together and the New York Police Department did not descend upon him en masse!
King Tut on the front platform was barking lustily, almost overcome with excitement. The valiant Nellie was summoning all her strength for the home stretch. With a shout of sheer pent-up emotion Speedy reached the far end of the Crosstown trolley line and attempted to steer the flying Nellie so that the wheels of the horse car would catch the rails.
And now the inmates of De Lacey Street, attracted by the clattering hoofs and the pandemonium in their wake, were pouring out of houses and shops into the streets! Speedy wildly waved them out of the way.