“Before that, boss,” Little Joe said, sitting on the arm of a big overstuffed chair. “The guys are yappin’ like hell now.”
Raven directed a train to a station and threw the switch. He leant forward to uncouple it. “Always wanted an outfit like this when I was a lad,” he said. “I never got anythin’ when I was a kid.” His voice was suddenly very bitter.
Joe didn’t say anything.
Raven started a complicated move of shunting the train to the engine−house. Little Joe couldn’t understand why he didn’t just lift the train off the track and put it in the shed. He thought it would save a lot of time.
“Well, what is it?” Raven repeated for the third time.
“Spade’s bellyachin’.”
“So what?”
“He says we’re ruinin’ his taxi business.”
Raven at last got the engine in the shed. “That’s too bad,” he said, stubbing out his cigarette in an ash−tray by his side. Then, as an afterthought, he said, “Are we?”
“His taxis take the floosies to their joints,” Little Joe explained.