RED WHEELS

Bay of Plenty Times, Volume LXVII, Issue 12821, 16 August 1939, Page 3

RED WHEELS

= —the evening story —=

By Eugene Conway Generally, Julius P. Brown had wits about him when he descend\a ivova street cars what with all !L e crazy drivers burning up the lavement, speed-crazy kids— like that Joo Kearny next door— driving heir crates like banshees on a high Ltd and drunks careering and roarL through the streets until it wasn’t safe for a respectable citizen to travel on his own two feet. But this afternoon his mind was not on his favourite theme. He was about to become a father! Some time this week— any day now. The thought made him go soft inside. And because he was soft inside, and inspired and a little afraid, he g* un g off the streetcar without waiting- for it to stop and without his

usual weather eye for crazy drivers. He heard a roar behind him and a scream of brakes. A berserk comet smacked him on the right hip. He flew sideways and lit on his left arm, hard, A zig-zag of pain tore up his arm and he saw several thousand blazing planets, among them a redgpoked wheel with a splotch of red paint, on the _ tyre casing rolling rapidly out of his range of vision. He heard feminine screams and a chorus of outraged voices: “He’s doing 60! He’s running away! It’s criminal!” Then, close to his ear; “Are you hurt bad, buddy?” He looked up at an oversized taxi driver with a broad mouth and small, anxious eyes. Brown struggled dizzily to his feet. He saw red-spoked wheels slithering around the corner four blocks north. The ache in his arm quivered Into the background of his consciousness; over it surged his rage. He had been brutally struck down and the culprit was getting away! “Catch that car!” he gasped.

He staggered into the* front seat of the'cab. The driver leaped for the wheel, and the car sprang forward, hurling, Brown back against the cushion and driving the pain up through his arm and across his shoulders.

"Struck down in my own neighbourhood/’ muttered Brown through set teeth, “and he runs away!” The taxi gathered speed. It roared around the corner. Brown grabbed the door with his right hand, aud the tyres screamed. Through the tilted windshield, he saw the red wheels swirling around a corner three blocks ahead. The cab careered, straightened itself out and zoomed dowuuthe straight-away. • ‘iWe’re gaining on the rat,” yelled the-, driver swaying sideways as he swung the cab on two wheels around the second corner. •Hey, look out!” Brown’s voice rose to a scream as the broad side o£a beer truck loomed in their path. brakes of the cab shrieked, the swerved. There was the crash 9 crumpled fenders and the tinkle ? broken headlight glass. Brown’s oead cracked against the windshield 80 that his stomach turned over.

tthatja, mean, parking in tiie Ldle of the street?” rose the r £.hful voice of the cab driver, rilfa'’' S^U^nt ' Pin-headed go-

blinked through his headred f t 0 866 the beer truck driy e r in and big as two men swarm--Blide d ° WII ■ rom llis truck like a land “

sorin .° S a s< mint-eyed, pin-headed ] ol a ' me °ntta that cab, you yon « - 4 ° P do you want m e to drag ,0 “.? ut b y the ears!” iasM* 1 - 1 ' 1 growl iu Ws throat, the swink nVe J came out of his cab driver f' *° r tbe cbin - The truck ott *Afe'i f Cked and Cauglu the blow 6 * 8ar ' s t a Sgered, recovered Jaw,' 6 ‘ back witk a right’to the

across P ’ ? r °wn scuttled store, u Sldewalk an d into a drug d ‘Poii 6 grabbe d the telephone. aQ( i SOtl, Two men are killing

An expectant father suffers the usual anxiety plus the help of a friendly neighbour

each other —send two prowl cars— I need one to chase a hit-and-runner ■ —send everything you got—and hurry! ” Later Brown thrilled to the shrieking crescendo of the police syren as he sat beside the officer. They had left the truckman and taxi driver glaring at each other with a policeman between them. said Brown exultingly, eyeing the efficient face of the driver. The redsplotched tyre was long out of sight but the officer w.iuld know what to do. "Uh —huh,” said the officer. “To the hospital.” And he turned into the broad gates. Brown jumped. “No,” he wailed. “I want to catch that hit-runner first—l—”

“The taxi gathered speed.” “You’re getting off here,” said the officer firmly, “and get the gravel • “Now we’re getting somewhere,” taken out of your face, and something done for that arm—r-it’s swollen like a barrel—and that bump on your head —” Then they saw it. Another car was parked in front of the hospital steps, the car with the paint splotched tyre. As they rolled* out of the prowl car the hospital door swung open and a skinny, long-armed, 17-year-old trotted down the steps heading for the car with the red wheels. / “Joe Kearney! Tha —that’s your car,” stuttered Brown, recognizing his neighbour. “It was you that ran me down and left me to die—” Joe started. “Geeze, Mr Brown, was it you I winged? Geeze, I’m glad—l Jnean I’m glad you ain’t killed, or something. I was just, down to the emergency wing to see if they brought in the - guy I hit. Why couldn’t you wait until that streetcar stopped instead of swinging off it front of a fellow?” Julius P. Brown breathed deeply, “You ran!” It was the accusing voice of doom. “Officer, arrest that boy.”

“0.K.,” said* Joe Kearney with a resigned sigh. “I was 'going to the police anyway to tell them about it. I didn’t want to be a hit and run driver, but there were plenty of people around to take care of the guy I nicked, so it wouldn’t have done much good to stop and it would have upset Mrs Brown something aw- “ Mrs Brown ”

“Yeh,” said Joe. “It happened pretty sudden. She yelled at me over the back fence. I was painting my wheels. .Golly, I had to hurry to get here here.” His face lit*up. “And say—it’s a boy—nurse just told me. Congratulations, Mr Brown!”