chatting and seemed supremely happy. Speedy sighed as he jammed his car into first speed and followed the stream of vehicles out from the tunnel into crowded Sixth Avenue.
At 38th Street a dark, thin young man, standing on the curb with a suitcase beside him, hailed him. Speedy drew up alongside.
"Give us a hand with this, will you," said the would-be fare in a low voice. Speedy wondered why a seemingly healthy person should be needing help with a single suitcase but he obediently took hold of the handle.
"Not there. Put your hand underneath. I'll give you a buck tip to take this up to 96th Street and Wellington."
Speedy lifted. The bag was abnormally heavy. Its contents gurgled. Speedy set it down with regret. The buck tip went glimmering.
"Sorry, mister, but I can't afford to carry that stuff," said Speedy. "I'm a green driver and a cop may hold me up any minute. Besides, general principles. Understand?"
"You're a sap," bit off the dark one disgustedly.
"I would be if I took that bag," agreed Speedy and was off with a wave of his hand.
The morning passed quickly. Speedy was kept busy. He transported old ladies to department stores and alert, nervous business men, who muttered unmentionable words at the roundabout routes the police forced Speedy's taxi to take, to business appointments. Some tipped him generously, some not at all. He had not yet learned to assume the
