Thus it was that at the big banquet of triumph that night in the Crosstown carbarn John Donaldson sat at the right hand of Pop Dillon, who occupied the seat of honor at the head of the table. Speedy was at Pop's left, and beside Speedy and very close to him sat a very bright-eyed Jane, looking especially lovely in her white party dress. Ranged on either side of the festive board and overflowing out of the car into the barn were the celebrants.
Walters and Barnett and Mertz and Le Duc—all of them. Johnny Burke, in a brand new and neatly creased uniform, was telling everybody "what a great guy this Speedy is." For Speedy Swift had risen in two days from the rôle of the neighborhood ne'er-do-well to that of De Lacey Street's pride and joy.
Walters and the others had worked like yeomen decorating the car and barn with flowers and bunting and preparing the feast on short notice. There was even a band. And a newspaper reporter. And a man from one of the tabloid papers equipped with a camera and a flashlight that made everybody jump—and look scared to death in the paper the next morning.
Of course there was no end of speeches. Chris Walters acted as toastmaster. He hailed Pop Dillon as a sterling citizen of De Lacey Street who had weathered many storms of adversity, survived valiantly and was now the recipient of the great good luck of selling his franchise for a fortune. He called upon Pop for a response.
