While Steven Carter was telephoning his "medical" friend, "Doctor" Mason, down on De Lacey Street, in front of the Hotel Envoy Speedy Swift was in line waiting for his next fare. Speedy was in no hurry. He had had a strenuous day so far and his right-hand coat pocket sagged with receipts. If his luck kept up, he was sure Jerry Moore would be well satisfied with the first day's activities of his new driver.
Speedy even ventured to draw forth the afternoon edition of the newspaper from his pocket and read over again the baseball dope, already digested along with his beans at the lunch room. He looked at his watch. It was two o'clock. The rival World's Series teams would probably be dressing now, preparatory to taking the field. He wished he had arrived at the Envoy a little sooner. He had retained in his mind the knowledge that the New York baseball team stopped there and possibly he could have conveyed some of them to the Yankee Stadium. By dawdling so long at his lunch he had missed picking up possible customers bound to the game too. It was too bad. He would have gotten a thrill from just seeing the outside of the Stadium and seeing the crowds pouring in.
In a second his thoughts were interrupted
