"It's an echo. Let it go. If you're okay, grab the next street-car."
That's very opportune. Because here comes a big red street-car now,
around the corner of the drug store.
"_What!_"
Yes, sir, and its chock full of people. I'll climb aboard.
"Wait a minute! Hold on! Murder! What _kind_ of people, dammit?"
It's the West Side gang. Sure. The whole bunch of tough kids.
"West side gang, hell, those are Martians, get the hell outa there!
Transfer to another car--take the subway! Take the elevated!"
Too late. The car's stopped. I'll have to get on. The conductor looks
impatient.
"Impatient," he says. "You'll be massacred!"
Oh, oh. Everybody's climbing from the street-car, looking angry at me.
Kelly and Grogan and Tompkins and the others. I guess there'll be a
fight.
The captain's voice stabs my ears, but I don't see him anywhere:
"Use your r-gun, your blaster, your blaster. Hell, use your slingshot,
or throw spitballs, or whatever the devil you imagine you got holstered
there, but _use_ it! Come on, men, about face and back!"
I'm outnumbered. I bet they'll gang me and give me the bumps, the
bumps, the bumps. I bet they'll truss me to a maple tree, maple tree,
maple tree and tickle me. I bet they'll ink-tattoo their initials on my
forehead. Mother won't like this.
The captain's voice opens up louder, driving nearer:
"And Poppa ain't happy! Get outa there, Halloway!"
They're hitting me, sir! We're battling!
"Keep it up, Halloway!"
I knocked one down, sir, with an upper-cut. I'm knocking another down
now. Here goes a third! Someone's grabbed my ankle. I'll kick him!
_There!_ I'm stumbling, falling! Lights in my eyes, purple ones, big
purple lightning bolts sizzling the air!
Three of them vanished, just like that!