Speedy (Holman)/Chapter 6
When Speedy, arrayed in his spick and span new gray suit, arrived at the Dillon's flat bright and early the next morning he discovered Jane in the kitchen. An over-sized apron protected her best gown. She was making sandwiches for their luncheon. This was the second noontime repast she had prepared that day. Pop Dillon had taken his with him when he departed for the car some time previously. She stopped her work for a minute to inspect Speedy.
"You look fine, Harold," she complimented as he pivoted around in front of her to give her a view of his sartorial splendor from all sides.
"You look nice too, Jane," he returned. "Are we all set? Have you got your bathing suit?"
"Isn't it too late in the season for swimming?" she asked.
"Oh, no. It's a beautiful, sunshiny day out—warm as midsummer."
They packed luncheon and bathing suits into the small imitation leather suitcase, a relic of the days when Jane was attending public school and carrying: her books in it. Then Jane donned her trim little hat and coat and they were off.
At the corner they descended into the cavernous depths of the subway. The trains were packed to the last inch of standing room with workers bound downtown. They were forced to fet two of the juggernauts that roared into the local station go by without even attempting to board them. Then, deciding that the situation would probably get worse before it got better, they rushed the doors of the third train as soon as they were slid open. Both Jane and Harold were hardened New York underground wayfarers and knew that clothes and limb must be risked if one desires to do any tube traveling during rush hours.
They succeeded in jamming their way through the tightly packed mob of passengers to a position where they could cling to adjacent straps. At the next stop a man vacated a seat near Jane. She started toward it but a burly laborer with a lunch box beat her to it and opened a morning paper in front of his face so that he could not see the hostile looks which both Jane and Harold cast his way. Two stations later when another sector of vacant yellow seat was opened up by the departure of a fat man, Harold fairly dived into it like a football tackler. Having won the precious space by these heroic tactics, he motioned Jane over and relinquished it to her.
"Great teamwork, buddy," said a young man standing in front of them who had witnessed the maneuver.
"You've got to work fast around here," smiled Speedy.
"You said it," agreed the other youth with an appreciative glance at pretty Jane.
Practically the whole car full had departed by the time the train was rushing under the river toward Brooklyn. The car alternately filled and refilled as the journey continued through New York's twin city. Nearing Coney Island the only other passengers were three women with ten children between them, all bound for the beach. Jane and Speedy had kept up a lively conversation ever since entering the car. The train was now running on a trestle and both eagerly watched for the first glimpse of Coney. At last they could see the skeleton-like wooden roller coasters and ferris wheels reaching skyward. A few minutes more and they were alighting in the midst of the resort that entertains New York's teeming millions.
"You take the tickets, Harold," said Jane, producing them from her handbag.
"Where will we go first? Steeplechase?"
"All right. Then we'll put on our bathing suits and eat lunch on the beach. After that we'll swim and see Luna."
They walked up Surf Avenue, with its motley, gaudy array of restaurants, side shows, hot dog emporiums, motion picture theatres, pleasure parks and the like. They paused underneath the widely grinning face with monstrously prominent teeth that marked the entrance to Steeplechase Park.
Speedy presented his tickets to the man in the booth and both he and Jane received a long card containing a list of all the pleasure items in the Park. Beside each was a space which could be punched when the event was over.
"Oh, there's the 'Barrel of Fun'!" Jane cried out, all excitement. "Betty Feeley was telling me that was such sport. Let's try that first!"
So they hurried over, had their tags punched and entered the huge barrel, big enough to admit a giraffe. After a minute or two the barrel started whirling. Both were instantly knocked off their feet and set swirling around its smooth surface, toes flung madly in air, hats spun off. Harold laughed and Jane screamed with glee and it was very thrilling indeed. Finally the gyrating barrel stopped and they had a chance to recover their hats and breath.
"That was wonderful!" said Jane, panting as they walked away in search of new adventure.
"You didn't hurt yourself, did you?" Harold asked solicitously. "Some of these things are pretty rough on a girl."
"What do you think I'm made off? Glass?" Jane replied with a little scornful flip of her head. She did not like to be reminded disparagingly of her sex.
"Oh, look—Harold!" she cried suddenly, seizing him by the coat and turning him around, bursting out laughing as she did so.
He obeyed and caught a glimpse of himself in a huge curved mirror that distorted his body until he looked broader than he was long and ridiculously protruding in the middle. He laughed too, and Jane stepped beside him so that her slim form too was caricatured into that of a very fat midget. Next to this mirror was another that made them as tall as flagpoles. The place was a veritable hall of convex and concave glasses that twisted them into all sorts of laughable exaggerations.
They lingered here for a while in great glee, then proceeded farther to stop eventually in front of a booth where quite a crowd was collected. The grinning and woolly head of a huge negro was stuck through canvas on the other side of the counter and the knot of people was being urged to hurl baseballs at the senegambian and win cigars. The baseball angle of this appealed to Harold at once. He yielded his tag for a punch and received six baseballs. He stood off from the counter and took careful aim at his human target. Then he wound up in the style that he had copied from Waite Hoyt, Walter Johnson and other stars of the diamond. His arm came around with a wide sweep and suddenly stopped in something soft and yielding. At the same time there was a loud grunt and an exclamation of pain. Harold looked around to find that he had stuck ball and hand in the stomach of a very fat man among the spectators.
"Oh, I'm sorry," he stammered, putting a supporting arm around his victim, who seemed about to collapse.
"Why don't you look what you're doing when you try that fancy wind-up? Go out in the ball park and do that," gasped the fat man.
"Oh, don't you be such a crab, Keep your eyes open and you won't get hurt," Jane cut in spiritedly. She turned to Speedy, "Don't mind him, Harold. Go ahead."
The tart rebuke of the girl strangely enough subdued the obese one completely. The other spectators were all laughing at him now and he slunk away.
Recovering his equanimity, Harold repeated his roundhouse wind-up and hurled the ball swiftly at the negro's head. The latter had been paying attention to the argument in front of him and was for the moment off his guard. The result was that Speedy's shot struck him squarely on the crown of his head. The ball bounced nearly back over the counter. The proprietor of the booth frowned and muttered with displeasure at the negro. Then he summoned a professional smile to his hard face and held out the cigar box to our marksman. Speedy picked out a cigar.
"I'll take it home to Pop," he assured Jane.
He used up the other five balls also. But now the negro, smarting both from Speedy's rifle-like delivery and his boss's scolding, was more agile. He successfully ducked the remaining missiles. Jane and Harold soon moved on to more worlds to conquer.
Speedy insisted upon buying his pretty consort an ice cream cone at this point, although she protested that it would spoil their lunch. It was warm and she really welcomed the cone, but she knew Speedy's finances were in a low state of health so that even this small expenditure was important.
They rode upon a modern variation of a carousel which gave one the illusion of being in a horse race, with jaunty jockey caps supplied for the price of admittance. They were swung aloft in the huge ferris wheel until they seemed to be blissfully alone in an eternity of blue sky, and Speedy even ventured to hold Jane's hand a little. She supplied the pressure and propinquity herself a few minutes later when they were hurtling down the dips and spinning up the rises in the giant roller coaster. Jane almost screamed with excitement and clutched Speedy's arm tightly. He didn't mind.
And then it was time for lunch.
They had decided to go for a swim first and have luncheon upon the sand in their bathing suits. So they separated at the bathhouse doors, to rejoin each other later clad for the waves. Jane looked gracefully slim and pretty in her trim blue bathing suit and Speedy was an extremely well set-up young man for his age. He had under his arm the little suitcase, now containing nothing but their lunch. They deposited the case on the sand where they could keep an eye on it from the water. Then they walked hand in hand, chattering in lively fashion as their toes sank into the soft sand, toward the ocean.
Both were excellent swimmers. They pushed forward to their waists in the water, then dived smoothly in. The water was refreshingly cool. They swam lazily about, returning now and then to the beach to get running starts for dives back into the rolling surf. Finally they commenced swimming out toward the end of the lifelines and, rejoicing in the strength of youth and the pleasure of being together, glided side by side farther, farther from the shore. On the horizon a yacht and a tanker were lazily plunging their way south. The shore noises receded more and more. It was an ocean paradise, and De Lacey and the machinations of Steven Carter were far away. As if at a prearranged signal, they turned about and struck out for the sand.
They touched bottom simultaneously and walked out of the surf side by side, standing for a moment to get their breaths at the water's edge while the sun caused their wet white bodies to glisten.
"Hungry, Harold?" asked Jane.
"You bet. Let's eat."
But when they walked up to the place in the sand where their luncheon had been cached, the little brown suitcase had disappeared. They searched for fifteen minutes or more in the vicinity but could discover no trace of it. The nearest person on the sand was over a hundred yards away. They had noticed nobody near the spot. Who could have taken it?
Jane was on the verge of tears.
"Never mind," Speedy smiled. "We'll dress and eat at a restaurant."
"Oh, Harold, my lovely sandwiches. And that suitcase is the one I carry Pop's lunch in."
"Don't worry. We'll come back and look for it afterward."
There was nothing to do but go back to the bathhouse and dress. This accomplished, they walked along Surf Avenue.
"This ought to be a good place," Jane pointed out a quick lunch establishment.
"It doesn't look very high class," Speedy protested.
"It's plenty good enough," Jane declared positively. "You've got to save your money, Harold."
So they entered the rather uninviting depths of the hashery and were served a modest fare of ham and beans on a soiled tablecloth by a bored waiter wearing an apron that fairly cried out for the services of a laundry. Jane and Speedy had found newspapers in which to wrap their wet bathing suits and the extra chair at the table held the bundle. Just as they finished the rather unappetizing repast the hatchet-faced proprietor, who had been eyeing them from his position at the cashier's chair, stalked over with a frowning face that boded no good.
"Say," he growled, "you'll have to get them wet bathing suits out of here. They're dripping on my floor."
"A little water on your dirty floor will do it good," snapped Speedy, rising quickly to his feet and awaiting trouble.
The proprietor hesitated. "If you don't like this joint, you can get out of it," he said somewhat weakly.
"Without paying the check?" inquired Speedy. "Are you that anxious to get rid of us?"
"Oh, you can stay and finish your meal," the complainant backed down.
"Don't worry. We're through. And not even the pleasure of your company can keep us here." Speedy was feeling very jaunty at his success in subduing the querulous one. "Come on, Jane."
He slapped his money down with a flourish upon the desk in front of the hash-house man, who had resumed his cashier's seat.
"The nerve of that fellow," sighed Speedy when they were again out upon the sidewalk. "Now let's try Luna."
Luna Park proved largely a duplicate of Steeplechase. They were rocked on the "Witching Waves" and rode upon the miniature railway train that took them through black tunnels and around quick turns. One by one their admission tickets were perforated with punches and by four o'clock they had about exhausted the pleasure spots of Luna.
"We ought to take another look-around for that suitcase," Jane reminded him, "before we think of going home."
"Righto," agreed Speedy.
They returned to the beach and located the spot again where the ill-fated luncheon had been parked. Not a sign of it. They were about to return to Surf Avenue and the subway when a little dog suddenly came running up to Speedy and almost flung himself upon the youth.
"Hey—easy, boy," Speedy called out, backing away. He liked dogs. This one was a cute, friendly little wire-haired fox terrier. He reached over to pet the animal but it frisked away from him. Speedy followed. The dog made for the boardwalk and disappeared underneath. Speedy bent over and tried to coax the animal out.
"Isn't he a smart one, Jane? Bright face and quick as a flash," called Speedy over his shoulder. Then he emitted a startled exclamation as he saw the hidden treasure that the nozzle of the dog was buried in. "Say—here's our thief, Jane," he chortled. "This pup's made off with our suitcase and parked it in here. He's been all afternoon getting it open. Now he's eating the sandwiches. Say, pup, you've got a terrible nerve."
Speedy went down on his knees and edged under the boardwalk. He reached the suitcase and started to take it out from under the dog's nose. Jane let out a cry of warning. Too late. Speedy was now on his feet examining the rifled suitcase, but the dog was not disposed to relinquish his find so easily. The animal came out with a rush and, half playfully, half savagely, leaped upon Speedy. The youth held the suitcase up over his head out of the excited dog's reach. But this only served to goad the animal to greater efforts. He became a ball of fury. His paws lashed out at the sandwiches, His sharp nails tore into Speedy's new suit and tore huge rents in it. Coat and trousers were rapidly being ripped into shreds.
"Hey—he-e-y!" yelled Speedy. "Cut it out!"
"Throw the suitcase away," cried Jane.
Instead Speedy strove manfully to make friends with the dog, patting him and talking to him and still holding the prize in the air. After a time the dog's wild efforts stopped and, tongue wagging and bright, not unfriendly eyes fastened upon the youth, he was still.
"Now that you've decided to behave, you can have the sandwiches," Speedy rewarded him, tossing them upon the sand. But the dog now wanted to play. He stood upon his hind legs in the characteristic begging attitude of trained animals. He ran up and down the sand with Speedy. They romped until both were exhausted.
"Oh, look at your clothes. They're ruined," chided the exasperated Jane.
For the first time Harold looked down at his prize suit and discovered its mutilated condition. It was almost falling off of him in spots. Bare flesh shown at both knees. One shoulder was torn until only the lining remained. Speedy sobered.
"Gee, we can't go into the subway with me looking like this," he said. "They'll arrest me for a bum."
"You haven't any money for a new suit either," said Jane.
"Oh, I'll make that quickly enough. But how are we going to get home?"
By now the little dog had disappeared as quickly as he had come. The sun was going down and the air was becoming chill. Speedy became conscious of this through the vents in his torn clothes.
While they stood there debating their problem, a solution on wheels came rumbling up Surf Avenue. A moving van. Speedy read the bright letters on its side.
"Look, Jane, there goes one of Jim Feeley's vans. It'll dump us a few doors from your house. Come on!"
They ran up the steps onto the boardwalk and into the street in time to head off the big truck.
"Hey, Herman!" yelled Speedy. "Give us a hitch!"
The big, red-faced, good-natured driver of the van looked around and saw what appeared to him like a ragamuffin in tattered clothes. He looked closer, recognized Speedy and stopped the van.
"Say, you been in a fight?" he asked. The two other men on the seat beside him looked at Speedy curiously and then began to kid him.
"Never mind that," interrupted Harold. "Give us a lift into town, will you?"
"Sure. Jump in the back."
Harold opened the huge doors of the van and helped Jane up. He followed.
"All set!" he shouted to the driver. And they were off.
It was comfortably warm inside the cavernous depths of the van. There was enough light to see that the only furniture they were carrying was a living-room suite. Speedy pulled down a couple of chairs from the heap they were piled in and Jane and he sat in them. Both of them were pretty tired. They congratulated each other on their luck. Practical Jane produced some pins and started to try and make repairs in Speedy's garments. He could scent the sweet perfume of her hair as she leaned over him. He liked Jane very much. More than ever before at that moment, alone in their cosy retreat.
The temporary repairs made as best they could, restless Speedy arose and looked around. The van contained a mahogany table and a reading lamp. A whimsical thought struck Speedy. He moved the pieces of furniture around until the interior of the van resembled a cosy little living room. To complete the picture, Speedy reached up on some piled chairs to bring down a rug that had been wrapped into cylindrical shape. The rug seemed unnaturally heavy. Harold leaned down and peered inside. A mummy-like, bedraggled gray form met his eye. It was the little dog that had stolen their lunch and with which Speedy had been frisking on the sand. He must have leaped into the van when Harold held the doors open. Nobody had noticed him.
"Hello, King Tut," greeted Speedy. "Come on out and join the party."
The little animal leaped down and scampered around the van. They were a mile from Coney now and Speedy hadn't the heart to push the dog out into the street. Besides, he had taken a liking to the evidently homeless beast.
When he spread the rug at Jane's feet, the little dog came over and curled up near them, utterly contented.
"I'm going to keep him. I'll call him King Tut. He's such a queer looking mummy," said Speedy.
Jane nodded indulgently and leaned down to pet the dog. Lucky dog, thought Harold. He sat beside her, strangely silent and thoughtful.
"Suppose you and I had an apartment," Speedy said at last. "And I'd just come home from work and we were talking it over."
Jane smiled. "And I'd say," she joined in the game of let's pretend, "How did you make out at the office today, Harold?"
"Oh, I cleaned up between ten and a hundred bucks," Speedy replied airily.
"That's wonderful," declared Jane. "We'll put it in the bank and maybe soon we can buy that darling little place in the country."
Speedy was very sober.
"Say, I'm an awful loafer," he said suddenly. "Tomorrow I'm going to land a good job—one that I'll keep. And I'm going to work hard and save my money and—"
"That would be great, Harold," Jane said warmly. "You're getting too old to be so happy-go-lucky and careless. Sometimes I think you'll never settle down."
"Oh, yes, I will. You'll see." He reached over shyly and took her hand. "And then can we get married, Jane?" he asked softly.
She did not answer for a minute or so. In the half-darkness he could not tell whether or not there were really tears in her eyes.
"We'll see," Jane said finally. "But you'll have to prove yourself first. You'll have to grow up and beaman. We're all so poor now." She added with a sudden recollection, "Unless granddad sells his franchise. I heard Mr. Carter talking to him about it yesterday."
Speedy scowled, "Oh, darn Mr. Carter," he exclaimed. "I don't like that fellow. There's something phoney about him."
"That shows how much you know about him," pouted Jane.
Steven Carter was the main topic of their conversation until the van came to a halt a half hour later and Herman, the Feeley's chief driver, opened the van doors and shouted, "All out, you joyriders. We're home."
The gathering darkness fortunately hid Speedy's bedraggled appearance as they walked up De Lacey Street toward the Dillon's house, Speedy still carrying the little suitcase that had cost him his new suit. King Tut trotted at their heels. Harold opened the door at the Dillons'. The light was burning in the living room. They walked into the unexpected spectacle of Steven Carter acting as nursemaid for the undershirted Pop Dillon and rubbing the electric vibrator over Pop's bowed shoulders. The old man was groaning now and then, and there was a bad gash under one of his eyes. Jane went up to him at once.
"Is your rheumatism worse, grandfather?" she asked anxiously.
"No, it ain't the rheumatism this time," Pop answered weakly. "A thug tried to beat me up when I brought my car back to the barn an hour or so ago. But I fought him off and I yelled so loud he finally went away. Afraid of the cops, I guess."
"I found him here in the living room groaning and almost exhausted," Carter explained. "He has a nasty cut under his eye. I bathed it. His back is hurt pretty badly too. I was trying to relieve his pain: but he should really see a doctor."
Speedy shot a quick, hostile glance at Carter. He had never liked him since the first time he laid eyes on him. His dislike was compounded half of a suspicion that the fellow was hanging around the Dillons for no good purpose and half of jealousy because he thought Carter had his eyes on Jane. Speedy now stepped decisively forward.
"Give me that vibrator," he said rudely. "I always do that for Pop."
Carter looked at him sharply, then smiled and with a shrug handed over the instrument to him. Carter arose and started a conversation with Jane while Speedy took up the task of passing the soothing electricity over Pop's wounds.
"Now tell me exactly what happened," Speedy urged Pop. "It don't seem natural that a thug should attack you. You haven't an enemy in the world—unless you've developed them lately." He cast a significent look over toward Carter, but the latter's back was turned as he talked earnestly to Jane. Speedy wondered what she could see in this fellow, why she didn't order him to leave.
He turned abruptly to Pop. "What did this thug fellow look like?" he asked.
King Tut sat at Speedy's feet, his shrewd gray little head cocked on one side in the air as if he too wanted to hear the story.
_4.png)
His first day as a taxi driver—and in trouble.