"My old ball bat can still crack a few heads for Pop. And you can count on my two sons too. Fighting's their middle names."
"Bring on your thugs. We'll give them warm welcome," declared husky Barnett, the butcher, who weighed two hundred pounds and had once been a prominent amateur boxer.
"It vill be a pleasure," smiled Schultz, Turnverein trained.
The others all chimed in with similar promises and threats of useful violence.
"All right," said the excited and pleased Speedy. "I knew I could count on you. One thing more—we've got to have a leader and, since I'll probably be the center of attack and see the thugs first, I'm going to be immodest and appoint myself. Will you agree, in the absence of Pop, to follow me?"
"Yes!" came the resounding chorus.
"Fine!" cried Speedy. He thought a second. "I'll have to give you a signal when I know for sure that there's going to be trouble," he went on. "I'll tell you what: I remember my grandfather telling me once how in Civil War days one fellow used to warn another secretly that a fracas was coming by saying, 'It looks like rain.' When he said that, all of his friends would know to be on their guard. So, tomorrow when I drive the car and see that I'm going to be in for it, I'll lean out and say, 'It looks like rain,' as I pass you fellows on the street. Then, when the attack is on and I need you men to come a-running and get busy, I'll yell, 'It looks like rain!' as loud as I can. Is it a go?"
