little book. He wanted to know if Speedy desired to make charges against the Callahanites, now looking very weary and woebegone, left behind on the street by their fellows.
"No," said Speedy. "These fellows were only obeying orders. It's Callahan and particularly the master mind behind this thing that you want to get. And I haven't got enough direct evidence on him—yet—to make a charge stick, even if you entered it."
Meantime, having swapped their battle experiences in excited talk together, the De Lacey Streeters were slowly dispersing to their homes and shops to resume their workaday lives. Some of their women folks had circulated out into the street, anxious to know the fate of husband or son or both. They had watched the fight fearfully from windows and doors, where it looked even more vicious than it was. Most of the men had kept the impending rumpus a secret from the women, fearing that to tell them in advance would mean commands to keep out of the trouble, especially with that wild Swift boy enticing them to the fray. Now the women were busily examining the condition of their respective warriors and concealing their relief that things had turned out so well by scolding the triumphant males for minor catastrophes such as black eyes and ripped clothing.
Speedy watched the scene from the front platform of the car with a sympathetic grin. He knew these De Lacey Street women. Hard-working, sharptongued Trojan wives and mothers, but with hearts of gold when you needed them. But evidently none
