'You're a smart driver. Here's a ten dollar bill and keep the change.' And sure enough it was—"
"—wrapped it right around an 'L' pillar and left it there. Can you beat it? Wonder what the taxi business is comin' to, hey, with a bunch of gunmen and gyps drivin' the 'buses—"
"—sure, Knockout Grady, the heavyweight, the guy that was goin' to fight Dempsey. Sure, he's drivin' a Yellow now. Looks like a featherweight when he's crouched down back of the wheel. Guy got in an argument with him yesterday about the fare and offered to knock his block off. Grady uncoils himself from the wheel and gets out of the cab. 'You're welcome to try, mister,' says Grady, 'but in the interest of your family I think I should warn you that I'm Knockout Grady and there ain't the bozo that lives that can put me down for the count.' With that the guy does a fadeout at sixty knots per hour—"
But Speedy heard little of this gossip of his trade. Having finished the last of his soggy lemon meringue pie and bitter coffee, he was deeply engrossed in the sporting page and the chances of the Yankees in the first of the World's Series games to be played at the Yankee Stadium that bright, sunshiny afternoon. When he finally finished the detailed account of the dope, he looked up at the big clock on the opposite wall and discovered it was quarter after two. He sprang up, paid his reckoning to the henna blonde behind the cashier's counter and mounted his faithful 'bus.
The car seemed to have developed more aches
