and pains during the noon hour. Speedy decided he would have to put in a little overtime tightening her up that night. He turned the corner into 47th Street. A fussy, white-haired old man with a cane was making motions at him from the curb. He stopped, backed up and opened the door.
"Why don't you stop when you see me attracting your attention?" complained his fare, red-faced and irascible.
"Stopped as soon as I saw you," chortled Speedy, with a mental note that here was an old boy that had to be handled carefully.
"Union League Club," snapped the fretty one.
Speedy started for Broadway.
"Here, here, where are you going? It's the other way," directed the old man, tapping on the window with the handle of his cane.
"I know it. This is a one way street," explained Speedy.
He finally reached 42nd and swung East. He was not particularly sorry when he unavoidably bumped into two or three bad holes en route. The old gentleman shouted some ungentlemanly exclamations but Speedy paid no attention. What he did pay attention to was the fact that these jolts had done his already wounded car no good. Its squeaks and rattles grew louder. Speedy wondered if the 'bus was going to last the day out. So, evidently, did his fare. There was more tapping at the window. Speedy looked around.
"Young man, is this car safe?" asked his passenger. "Sounds as if it was going to fall apart."
