"If I let you take that car out, you'll smash it and yourself too," said Moore grimly, alighting as if he was glad to be still alive.
"My father used to say I was the best driver he ever rode with!" offered Speedy, bringing every possible recommendation to his rescue.
"Who was your old man that he should know so much about driving cars," Moore asked scornfully.
"He was Speedy Swift, the Yankee shortstop."
"That so? As an auto driver, he was a swell ball player. I remember him. All right, in memory of the home run I saw your old man hit that won the pennant in 1905, I'll take a chance on you. But if anything happens to this car, it won't make any difference who your old man was. Your name is Mud and you're out!"
"O.K.," said Speedy joyfully.
"Take him down to the police and get him registered and mugged," Moore told Danny.
The two young men entered their cars and drove down to the Municipal Building without incident. In the traffic section of Police Headquarters, located in the basement of the building, a burly sergeant of police was interviewing applicants for taxi-driver permits. Speedy and Dan had to wait nearly a half hour for their turn. Finally Speedy was next.
"Speak right out and tell it to him," Danny advised. "The answer to most of the questions is, 'Report it to an officer.'"
The sergeant looked up grimly as Speedy stepped up in front of his desk. In a gruff voice he asked
