"Don't Babe Ruth and the rest of the Yankees stop at the Envoy when they're in town?" asked Speedy with sudden interest.
"Sure," said Danny. "But you won't tote any of them around. Most of those fellows drive their own cars."
"That's so," said Harold, disappointed.
Dan went back to his car and the two youths started slowly to proceed uptown together, keeping sharp eyes toward the sidewalks for possible fares. Dan was hailed by a corpulent gentleman almost immediately and swung in toward the curb. He waved his hand to Speedy and shouted "Good luck." And thus Speedy was embarked upon his new career, alone at last and feeling much like an aviator who had taken off in his first solo flight. Through the mirror attached to his windshield Speedy could see Danny swinging an are on Lafayette Street and heading back downtown.
For several blocks Speedy trundled on. He began to suspect that the vehicle assigned to him was not one of Moore's first string. It rattled and wheezed a lot and the motor gave forth choky sighs when he put it into gear after being stopped by traffic. Near Washington Square, Speedy detected a pair of middle-aged women beckoning him, and slid to a stop beside them. He had noticed them from far down the street and wondered idly why they had allowed three or four empty taxis ahead to glide by before hailing him. He held the door open for them and they sank heavily into the smelly leathern depths of his machine.
