too many underworld stories lately. People don't do those things in real life."
"Why don't you frankly admit you're jealous of him?" Jane joined in warmly.
"It don't come with very good grace for you to be calling people names and accusing them of frame-ups when you haven't even got a job yourself, and don't know where your next meal is coming from," said Pop.
Speedy frowned. He looked at his friends appealingly. Were they going back on him? Were they supporting this fellow Carter against him and ridiculing his suspicions? Resentment and a desire to show them what he could do welled up within the stout-hearted Speedy. Let them fight out their own battles for a while and he would fight his! He'd forget Carter for the time being and get a job. He'd get one that night, by golly. But where?
He recalled what Danny Ryan, one of the lads of about his own age with whom he had romped in De Lacey Street in his younger days, had told him. Danny was a taxi driver now. With tips and other extras Danny made a good living. He had told Speedy, "If you ever want to get a job driving a taxi, maybe I can put you wise to one."
Speedy abruptly picked up his hat and started for the front door.
"Where are you going, Harold?" asked Jane quickly, regretting now that Pop and she had spoken so sharply to him.
"I'm going to get a job—right now," Speedy
