The Washington times., 1930-11-15
NOuV Go On With the Story

and fifty for drivers Of ten
ton trucks-and not O nickel
to get their regular 8 cents 9
l1undred-the "hi-jackers" %
they we're known in truckese.
more. And the leaders were
who cheated and doub's.r
on the weight and took the
rest with q gat."
Cyclone Tim was to get his
divvy off the men-,and he got
plenty more besides
Trucks Waiting
Already, q score Of the Met
ropolitan Trucking Corpora.
tion's trailers were jamm e d
against the opened warehouse
doors. Already the little steamer
had been pushed against the
dock. Already the fifty long
shoremen were forming. their
queue to board the boat and
drag from its vitals the trop-
ical-green fruit which they
would load upon the trucks.
Tommy, wised through the
underworld grapevine which
trickled into the flap ears OF
Cyclone Tim. waited for the
trouble to start. Trouble that
was to be the first move to
disorganize his fathers truck.
ing business on the water
front. q business that netted
a million q year. He waited
with tingling nerves and tight
ening muscles.
AS the first Of the longshore-
men heading the line from the
hold Of the ship; led the way
through the breezy. ample,
spice.odored warehouse, came
UP to the first truck he heaved
his stalk Of bananas the full
length Of the van. Those who
followed him threw their loads
with all their force against the
sides, others stripped the stalks
and scattered the fruit and
kicked everything into the truck
and around the floor.
The Battle Cali
Cyclone Tim and Tommy had
been standing by, watching
them. When the first man had
thrown down his load the giant
gang leader stepped from be.
hind a trailer and placed two
closed fingers between his lips.
There issued forth a blast
piercing, shrill, startling-thI
battle call Of the mobster.
They leaped from tractors,
popped from behind trailers
leaped from the very street,
hundred Of them, privates Of
the River Rats, armed with two
by-fours with rusty, murderouS
nails. bristling from the ends:
carrying truck crankS, bricks
and cobblestones.
From somewhere Cyclone
Tim dragged out two pairs OF
brass knucks-weapon Of suze.
rainty of the old time slugger.
He pressed one into Tommy's
hand, but Tommy looked once
at it and shivered. He clenched
his own husky fists and jumped
up on the concrete floor of the
warehouse. He, at least, would
fight fair. So Cyclone Tim
armed his both hands with the
brutal metal which would have
put to shame the 1eathern
iron-loaded fist Of the Roman
cestuS.
Fight Starts
The River Rats Swarmed into
the warehouse, which became
an arena Of knock-down, drag
out, skull-cruShing fighting.
Above the din could be heard
the believing Of Cyclone Tim.
who was Splintering jaws and
slicing faces with his brass-clad
hands. Tommy had hardly
taken a step before a huge man
rantmed his head into the pit
Of his stomach. But the head
hit muscle and sinew used to
gridiron bolts, and 1t received
the blow like q brick wall. A
lightning uppercut slipped the
man unconscious.
Tommy, mauled and beaten
around tasted the salt Of his
own blood, as it trickled down
his cheeks into his mouth, and
he went wild. How long it
lasted, what happened, he would
never know. because when a
sudden flash Of intelligence IL
lumined his brain he found him
selE thraShing out his huge
arms at his own father.
Easy there, my boy" chort-
led Tall Tom Gillespie. 81 think
you've done enough damage for
one day."
Tommy blinked. An ambu-
lance surgeon, cadetlike white
cap askew on his head, was
trying to daub at a dash on his
temple.
where's Tim?" Tommy
asked blinking and relaxing.
I'm copesetteer kid" said
Cyclone Tim, who was right in
front of him. "I gotta hand
it to you boy-I've seen plenty
Of rought m tumble mills, and
I've seen plenty o. tough guys
meet tough buys-but. Tommy,
mitt mel"