"Paramount Theatre," said one of his fares.
He knew from experience that the huge playhouse was not open at that time in the morning, but Danny had cautioned him not to argue with his passengers or offer unsolicited advice. He swung the flag on his taximeter and started.
A few blocks farther along, one of the women touched his shoulder and asked sharply, "Young man, are you the correct driver of this taxi?"
"Sure," grinned Speedy, risking the lives of all of them by turning around and facing her in the midst of a traffic jam. "I get you—the photo doesn't look much like me. I look different with the cap on. Us handsome fellows don't take a good picture."
He chuckled and resumed his driving, amused that his two passengers probably thought he was a gunman or an auto thief. With no further incident he brought them up smartly to the 43rd Street side of the Paramount Theatre. The two women got out and peered around in some confusion. At least they registered confusion, though to Speedy's mind, trained by the New York streets to be wary, it looked like acting.
"Are you sure this is the Paramount Apartments?" the harder faced one of the two women asked.
"No, ma'am, Paramount Theatre—where you asked to go," said Speedy promptly. Caution told him to get down on the sidewalk beside them, and he did.
"I certainly did not," the woman said sternly. "I said Paramount Apartments. I thought you knew
