a wild cheer from the crowd prevented Speedy from hearing the next part of the conversation. He pressed his ear hard against the barrier and listened intently. The cheering died away. The little man was still talking.
"—it's a cinch," he was saying. "Carter shipped the old bird up to Connecticut and told him he'd get another fellow to drive the car. Of course that's the bunk. The car won't make its trip tomorrow and the old man loses the whole shebang. Then Carter steps in and cops if off—get me. Now what—"
Again the mob of fans burst into a wild roar. Ruth had crashed out a three bagger with two of his teammates on base, practically cinching the game for the Yankees. The cheering drowned out the hoarse voice of the man in the next compartment, strain as the aroused Speedy did to catch what he said. When it was again quiet, the conversation was almost over.
"—only got until six o'clock Saturday afternoon—day after tomorrow—to cop the franchise. If Carter don't come through by that time, the company's goin' to jump in and do business with the old man themselves."
With that the little man hung up. Speedy, deciding to risk arrest or anything to check up on this amazing matter immediately, stepped quickly out of the booth. So did the conversationalist from the next booth. The two policemen stepped simultaneously. Speedy thought they were about to seize him and prepared for the worst. But instead one
