wave of the hand that they were ready to come a-running when the tocsin sounded.
Speedy unlocked the door of the car barn and walked into the stall of Old Nellie, Pop Dillon's faithful gray mare. He gave the nag a generous morning meal, busying himself while she was eating by searching for a certain utensil of his own which he felt might come in handy. Over in the corner in the compartment where Pop kept his bales of straw he found it. A good, substantial baseball bat which had once belonged to his father, the elder Speedy Swift. Speedy had left it at the car barn following a scrub game of baseball in the middle of De Lacey Street some months previous. He now took the bat and, after hefting it a few times with satisfaction, carefully parked it beside the control box on the front platform of the car.
Then going back to Nellie, finished with her repast, he drew the harness down from its peg and decorated the horse with it. He led her to the shafts of the car and hitched her up. Stepping into his place on the driver's platform, he threw out his chest, gritted his teeth and, taking the lines in his hand, chirped, "Gid-dap, Nellie, old girl. You and I are probably going to see a lot of fun before we get through with this day's work." The old mare tossed her head, as if she understood what he was saying. Pop often maintained that Nellie had more sense than most humans.
The total rolling stock of the Crosstown Railways emerged placidly from its terminal and set out upon the day's work. De Lacey Street basked in the sun,
