me, but they all let me go when they spotted Gehrig and he spilled the salve to them. I made the train for them with a minute to spare. Gehrig came cross with the five bucks and handed me a pass to the next Yankee home game besides. He's a nice guy."
"All ball players are good fellows," said Speedy in the sublimity of his faith. "My old man was a ball player."
"I know," said Danny Ryan, who had heard the story of Speedy. "What's he doing now?"
"Don't know," Speedy answered in a curiously small voice. "But some day he'll come back and with a wad of dough. I feel it in my bones. He was the best shortstop the Yanks ever had, not excepting Elberfeld."
"Yeah, he was a good player. My old man says so. So was Pop Dillon in his day."
They parted in front of Dan's house. Speedy would like to have stopped and told the good news to Jane, for in his own mind he was already driving a taxi for the Only One Taxi Co., but when he reached the Dillon house it was dark. He did not venture to disturb them.
Later that night in his hard iron bed Speedy dreamed of driving a Fifth Avenue 'bus with the whole Yankee team in it from their hotel to the Stadium. When they arrived there, each player gravely handed him five dollars and a pass to the game. All expect one man. And, strangely enough, this player was Speedy's own father. He had hundred dollar bills sewed all over his uniform and he plucked ten of them off and handed
