"Sure. But hang on tight, buddy. I can stand it if you can."
The instant before Speedy closed the taxi door, a little wire-haired mite leaped in past his legs. King Tut had enlisted for the "duration of the war" and he wasn't going to be left behind. Speedy drew the excited little animal onto the seat beside him. The framed warning card fastened to the back of the driver's seat proclaimed the charioteer's name as Michael Cassidy.
Cassidy shifted his gears into high and with a lurch the wild ride had begun.
The taxi rattled and banged up Third Avenue, protesting in every joint against the speed which its driver was accommodatingly trying to force out of it. But after a block of progress, the warning white gloved hand of a traffic cop forced a temporary halt in a sea of other vehicles. Speedy groaned.
"Gosh, you can lick these signals if you try," he urged the driver. "I used to drive a cab myself. You can beat them if you're smart."
"Well, I been drivin' 'em off and on for ten years, buddy," calmly answered Cassidy. "You can beat 'em if you don't mind a ticket. But think of me wife and kiddies. However—here we go again!"
With a screech of ancient and not-too-well-oiled machinery the cab rattled on its way. This time they covered three blocks before the ubiquitous custodian of the peace in a blue uniform waved the uptown sea of traffic to a halt. Speedy pulled out his watch. Five minutes had already passed and
