chines. Then he walked over to a dinky little office where a light shone and a sleepy man with a green eye shade was working on some figures. Danny turned in his report while Speedy waited, checked out and joined his friend. In the interval Speedy had had a good look around. He liked the atmosphere of bustle and noise. He just knew taxi driving would appeal to him.
As Danny and he were covering the three blocks home, Speedy opened the subject.
"How do you like your job, Danny?" Speedy inquired.
"Oh, it's all right. Some days the weather is right and you get a lot of tips and I like it fine. Other days it's rotten. Why?"
"Well, I'm looking for a job. I can drive a car. You remember I used to drive the Ford for old man Gates, the groceryman, for a while. I've got a license. I'm a good driver. You said once there might be a chance for me to catch on with your outfit. That's what I really came down to see you about tonight—a job."
Dan considered it a while.
"Well," he said, "now that you mention it, Moore—that's the boss—fired two guys today. One of them smacked up two cabs lately against the 'L' stanchions on Sixth Avenue, and the other has been to court so many times over traffic run-ins with the cops that Moore had to get rid of him. There might be an opening down there at that. And I stand in pretty good with Moore. I tell you what—pick me up at seven o'clock in the morning at the
