"Where's your day's receipts?" asked Moore.
Speedy produced them. Advised by Danny, he had kept the fares in one pocket and his tips in the other. Moore grimly tallied fares and slips. They matched exactly. He grunted.
"All right, Swift. And good-bye. You're through. I was crazy to hire you. You pretty near ruined a good car and you went to the ball game instead of staying on the job. Lucky I went to the ball game too and spotted the car. You'll never get along in this business. Here's your day's pay." He counted out three dollars and handed them to Speedy.
Speedy's temper was aroused.
"O.K., with me," he said sharply. "I don't want to work for anybody who won't take my word for things. And I wouldn't risk my life and my passengers driving a tin can like the one you handed me today. Good-bye yourself."
Before the sputtering Moore could give forth an effective retort, verbal or physical, Speedy had left the place. He walked quickly the three blocks between the Only One garage and the Dillons'. He was delighted to find a light burning in the Dillon hall. He hastened up the Dillon steps, flung open the door and entered the hall.
