J. Farjeon - Ben Sees It Through

‘’Ow’s that fer quick?’ he exclaimed, as he got back into the taxi.

The young man made no reply.

‘Oi! I ses ’ow’s that fer quick?’ repeated Ben.

The young man still made no reply. Suddenly, Ben looked at him.

As a rule, Ben moved slowly. His motto was that you never got nowhere, so why ’urry? But, at chosen moments, he moved with a rapidity that baffled logic. He could get down three flights of stairs in two seconds, and round two corners in one. He had never got down stairs or round corners, however, with half the rapidity at which he now got out of the taxi. The driver was still in first gear, driving a dead man to a station, while Ben was legging it four blocks away.

And on Ben’s head was a cap, and in his pocket was a pound-note, which the dead man had given him.

‘Now, you!’ exclaimed a voice in his ear.

A hand grabbed his coat. With a yelp, he wrenched himself free. And, as he did so, he wondered why Fate never gave him a decent deal, and why the hand he had wrenched himself away from was not an ordinary hand, but bore a livid red scar.

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