Benton’s Venture, by Ralph Henry Barbour

AUTHOR OF “AROUND THE END,” “CHANGE SIGNALS,”
“FOR THE HONOR OF THE SCHOOL,” ETC.

“All right,” pursued the man good-naturedly. “I saw you looking at it, and I didn’t know but you might be wanting a good car. She’s a bargain.”

“Sort of—worn out, isn’t it?” asked Tom, moving around to a new point of view.

“N-no, there’s life in her yet, I guess. ’Course she needs overhauling, as you might say, and some paint. But she’s got four whole cylinders, a good set of gears an’—an’ some other things. No, she ain’t as bad as she looks. If you hear of anyone looking for a bargain in a five-seat, twenty-two-horsepower automobile, you tell ’em to come and see me, son.”

CHAPTER		PAGE
I.—	Tom has an Idea	1
II.—	And so has Willard	12
III.—	Mr. Benton Says Yes	24
IV.—	Jimmy Brennan Reports	33
V.—	The Bargain Is Sealed	42
VI.—	Willard Goes on Strike	51
VII.—	Jerry to the Rescue	67
VIII.—	Tom Learns to Run The Ark	83
IX.—	“Cab, Sir?”	100
X.—	The First Passenger	110
XI.—	The News-Patriot Aids	126
XII.—	Willard Encounters a Friend	137
XIII.—	Pat Herron Loses His Temper	145
XIV.—	Jerry Takes a Ride	154
XV.—	An Afternoon Off	163
XVI.—	An Interview with the Police	176
XVII.—	“J. Duff, Jobbing Done”	186
XVIII.—	Dividends for Two	203
XIX.—	Mr. Duff Gives Notice	212
XX.—	Introducing Julius Cæsar	221
XXI.—	Jimmy Makes a Proposition	231
XXII.—	The Boys Take a Partner	241
XXIII.—	Mr. Connors Makes an Offer	250
XXIV.—	Jimmy Goes to New York	260
XXV.—	The Ark Finds a New Home	272
XXVI.—	The New Motor Truck	279
XXVII.—	The Enemy in Trouble	288
XXVIII.—	A Wild Ride	297
XXIX.—	The Ark Says Good-Bye	310

	FACING PAGE
“‘This is Saturday and we ought to have a half-holiday’”	Frontispiece
“He gave the handle another half-dozen turns without result”	86
“As long as it was in sight he stood and shook his fist at it”	152
“‘How do you fellows feel about taking in a partner?’ he asked quietly”	236

The carriage dealer looked at him shrewdly, kicked[2] one worn and tattered tire as if to satisfy himself that it wouldn’t come to pieces, and replied: “A hundred and fifty dollars takes her just as she stands, with top, side curtains, top cover an’—an’ I think there’s a jack under the hind seat.”

“I dare say that’s reasonable,” replied Tom doubtfully, “but I guess it would take a lot to put that car in running shape, wouldn’t it?”

The dealer shrugged his shoulders. “I reckon fifty dollars would make a new car out of her, son. A coat of paint would make a whole pile of difference in her looks, anyway, and I’d paint her and varnish her for—let me see now; well, for thirty dollars. And that’s twenty dollars cheaper than anyone else would do it for. Better think it over.”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t buy her,” laughed Tom. “I haven’t got that much money.”

“Well, I didn’t suppose you had, but maybe your father would buy it for you. Ain’t you John Benton’s son? Ain’t Postmaster Benton your daddy?”

“Yes, sir, but I guess he isn’t buying automobiles just now. If I hear of anyone wanting one, though, I’ll tell them about this one. Want me to help you run it inside?”

“Yes, you might take a wheel over there. Wait till I put the brake off. Now, then! Heave-o! That’s the ticket. Easy! Look out for them hubs on that[3] surrey. All right. Much obliged to you. Tell you what I’ll do, son; if you send a buyer for her, I’ll make you a present of ten dollars. That’s fair, eh? You tell folks she’s a bargain. She is, too. I reckon I could get three hundred for her in the city. I took her in trade from a man over to Graywich. Why, that car cost thirteen hundred dollars when she was new!”

“Humph! About three years, if the man told the truth. That ain’t old, though, for an automobile. I was reading the other day about an automobile that had been run twelve years and was as good as new!”

“She might if she had some gasoline in her. Mind, I ain’t saying she would, for I ain’t tried her. I wouldn’t know how. I never ran one of the things in my life. But the man I took her from says she’ll run, an’ I’ll take his word for it till I find out different. Anyway, she’s all there; there ain’t no parts missing. You can tell ’em that, son.”

Tom rescued his books, which he had laid aside, and, with a final look at the automobile, left Saunders’ Carriage Works and took up his homeward journey again. It was the first week in June, and the afternoon[4] was warm and almost summer-like. There was a lazy quality in the air, which, possibly, explains why Tom had taken twenty minutes to get from the high school to Saunders’ Carriage Works and why the sight of a decrepit-looking automobile standing in front of the works had caused him to pause and waste another ten minutes. He had left school with the intention of going out to the field, after leaving his books at home and making a raid on the pantry, to watch the high school team practice baseball. Now, however, baseball practice had passed out of his mind. He was thinking of that old automobile back there. He knew very well what he would do with a hundred and fifty dollars if he had it! He would buy that car, fix it up so it would run and make money with it!

He needed money, too. He had already made up his mind to find work of some kind as soon as school was over, and so far the best thing that had offered was a position at four dollars a week in the Audelsville Paper Mill. Tom was convinced that his services ought to be worth more than that stipend, and, if a more remunerative position could be found, the paper mill was not likely to see him. Tom’s father was postmaster at Audelsville, but the salary was barely enough to provide for a family of three. It had long been a settled matter that a college education for Tom was beyond the possibilities, and that[5] so soon as he had graduated from the high school he was to go to work. There was still another year of schooling ahead, however, and Tom, who needed clothes pretty badly nowadays, owing to an unfortunate but quite natural proclivity for outgrowing his garments, didn’t see why it was necessary to complete his education before beginning to earn money. And if he owned that automobile—Tom sighed as he pushed open the gate and went up the short path to the house.

The pantry didn’t offer much in the way of variety to-day, but Tom selected four doughnuts and a banana, and went out to the porch. There he seated himself on the top step, and set to with a good appetite. He had finished the second doughnut when the sound of whistling behind the row of overgrown lilacs along the fence reached him. Tom craned his neck, for the whistling sounded like the musical efforts of Willard Morris. Tom was not mistaken. The smiling face of Willard appeared over the gate.

Nothing loth, Willard accepted the invitation, and a moment later was perched at Tom’s side, and was setting his teeth into one of Mrs. Benton’s doughnuts. Willard was a good-looking youth of seventeen, large[6] and broad-shouldered, with nice eyes, and a pleasant, likable face. He was Tom’s senior by a full year, and was in the class ahead of him at high school. But, in spite of that, the boys were very good friends. While Willard’s father was no better off than Tom’s, Willard himself had lately come into a small legacy from a grandmother who had died, and he was to start in college in the fall—a piece of good fortune that Tom certainly envied him.

“I wish,” announced Tom presently, after they had talked school affairs for a few minutes, “I wish I had a hundred and fifty dollars, Will.”

Willard stared at him in surprise. “Gee,” he said, “you’re getting swell! I’d like to see the automobile you’d get for a hundred and fifty dollars, though, Tom!”

“You can see it in five minutes. It’s at Saunders’ Carriage Works. It’s an old one, and I guess it’s in bad shape, but it could be fixed up all right. It’s cheap at a hundred and fifty, I guess.”

“I guess most any automobile would be cheap at that figure if it could be made to go. What do you want it for, Tom? Can you run one?”

“I’ve never tried, but anyone can run an automobile after learning how. I’ve been sitting here wondering[7] if father would get it for me if I asked him. I guess he couldn’t afford it, though.”

“Say, are you daffy?” demanded Willard. “Of course he won’t buy you an automobile! Besides, you’ve got a bicycle, haven’t you? Isn’t that good enough for you? It takes money to run an auto after you’ve got it, Tom.”

“Oh, I don’t want it for—for pleasure. I want to make money with it, Will. And I could if I had it, too.”

“Well——” Tom hesitated a moment. Then, “You aren’t thinking of buying it yourself, are you?” he asked.

“Then I’ll tell you. You know when folks stop here in Audelsville, drummers and folks like that, they have to go pretty near twelve blocks to get to the hotel or the stores.”

“I know the station’s a long way from the town,” acknowledged Willard. “I thought last Fall, after the Gordon Academy game, I’d never get home. I had a lame ankle and a stiff knee, and it seemed about two miles from the station to the house.”

“That’s what I mean. Drummers always have bags and trunks, and they can’t walk to the hotel. So they[8] take one of those rickety old hacks down there, or they wait for a car.”

“They don’t if they’re in a hurry,” said Willard grimly. “The cars only run every half-hour or so.”

“Twenty minutes; but they’re never there when a train comes in, and so the folks usually take one of Connors’ hacks. That costs them fifty cents apiece, and twenty-five cents for a trunk. Well, if I had that automobile, Will, I’d be down there when the trains come in, and I guess I’d do a good business. Most anyone would rather go to the hotel in an automobile than a hack. It’s quicker, in the first place, and then, besides, I’d take them up for a quarter.”

“Why, say, that isn’t a bad idea! But old Connors would be mad, wouldn’t he? How many would your auto hold?”

“Four, besides me,” answered Tom. “It would be big enough most times, I guess.”

“But gasoline would cost you money, Tom; don’t forget that. And oil; and repairs. I don’t believe you’d make much at twenty-five cents apiece.”

“I’ve figured I could clear about fifteen dollars a week,” replied Tom thoughtfully. “At that rate I could pay father for the car and have quite a little at the end of the summer. Then, if it proved a success, maybe I could find someone to drive it for me in the winter while I’m at school. But, there’s no[9] use talking about it, I suppose, for I don’t believe father would give me the money.”

“Maybe Saunders would sell on the installment plan,” Willard suggested. “Then you could pay him a little every week. Did you ask him?”

Tom shook his head. “No; I didn’t really think seriously of it until afterward. He told me he’d give me ten dollars if I’d find someone to buy it from him. So I should think he’d sell it for a hundred and forty if he didn’t have to pay out any commission, eh?”

“Shucks, Tom, he’d probably let you have it for a hundred and twenty-five. Where’d he get it, anyway?”

So Tom told what little he knew of the car’s history, and Willard listened thoughtfully. “Well, I’ll tell you what I’d do, Tom,” he said finally. “If there was any chance of getting it, I’d find someone who knows about automobiles, and have him look it over. Then, if it wouldn’t cost too much to put it in shape, I’d offer Saunders a hundred and twenty-five for it. Tell him you’ll pay him, say, fifty dollars down, and so much a week. As for painting it, why, I don’t see why you couldn’t do that yourself. It isn’t hard to paint. I’ll help, if you like. And, I wouldn’t paint it black, either, because black shows all the dust and mud. Paint it—paint it gray, Tom.”

“Yes, I guess that would be better. And I suppose I could do it myself, as you say. It would be rather fun, wouldn’t it? Gee, I wish my father would let me get it!”

“Well, ask him. There’s no harm in that. I guess you could do pretty well with it, if you had it, Tom. What time is it? Let’s go out and watch those duffers practice for a while.”

Mr. Benton listened gravely and interestedly that evening to Tom’s plan, but shook his head.

“Tom,” he said finally, “I couldn’t find a hundred and twenty-five dollars for you right now to save my life. Maybe I could find fifty if Saunders would let you have the automobile for that much down, but it would be risky, I’m afraid. Suppose you didn’t make your scheme work, my boy? Then how would you meet your payments?”

“I don’t see how it could help working, father,” replied Tom earnestly. “I guess there’s fully twenty to thirty folks going back and forth from the station every day.”

“More, but they don’t all ride in hacks. Lots of them take the car and lots more walk.”

“But they wouldn’t so many of them walk or take the car if they could get up to town quickly and comfortably in an automobile.”

“Perhaps not. You can’t tell, though. Besides, I[11] don’t know as I’d want to do anything to hurt Connors’ business, Tom. He’s been doing the station livery for a good many years now.”

“There wouldn’t be anything to keep him from putting on an automobile, too, father, if he found I was getting the business away from him.”

“I appreciate your wanting to make money, Tom,” he said kindly, “but I guess the best thing to do is to find some work somewhere and not risk any capital. A hundred and twenty-five dollars looks pretty big to your daddy these days!”

That ought to have settled the matter; but, although Tom, refusing comfort from his mother, went to bed telling himself that it was going to be the paper mill after all, somehow the next morning brought renewed hope. While he was dressing he tried to think of some way in which to get hold of that automobile, and, although he hadn’t succeeded by breakfast time, he nevertheless went downstairs to the morning meal in high spirits. There’s something about a fresh, dew-sprinkled June morning that makes a chap believe he can do almost anything if he tries hard enough!

When Tom started out of the house he was surprised to see Willard Morris leaning over the gate.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” announced Willard. “If we have time let’s stop and look at that buzz-wagon you were talking about yesterday. Will you?”

“Yes; but I guess there isn’t much use, Will. I spoke to father, and he said he couldn’t afford it. At least, he says he couldn’t afford to pay a hundred and[13] twenty-five. He might pay fifty, but he’s afraid I might not make a go of it.”

Tom narrated the conversation of the evening before, and Willard nodded once or twice, as he heard Mr. Benton’s objections.

“Well, maybe he’s right, Tom. There isn’t any sure thing about it, and that’s so, but he loses sight of the fact that, even if the scheme didn’t work, you’d still have the automobile, and ought to get as much for it as you gave; that is, if it’s as good as you say it is. Anyway, we’ll look it over.”

They did. Mr. Saunders was glad to have them see it, and expatiated on its merits for ten minutes, while Willard walked around it and viewed it carefully. “Was you thinking of buying it yourself?” asked Mr. Saunders.

“Oh, I don’t know,” replied Willard. “Maybe. I’m sort of looking for a bargain in an automobile.” Tom stared at him in surprise. “But I think you’re asking a whole lot for this thing. Why, it would cost a hundred dollars, probably, to put that car in shape!”

“What if it did? That would be only two hundred and fifty, and where could you get an automobile for that money?”

“Two hundred and fifty?” repeated Willard. “Oh, I see; you’re figuring on getting a hundred and fifty[14] for it.” He shook his head, and felt disparagingly of a worn tire. “I wouldn’t give that much. Maybe I’d offer you a hundred, but I’d want to have someone look over the engine first.”

Mr. Saunders snorted with disgust. “A hundred! Why, that thing cost me two hundred in trade! A hundred! Pshaw! I’d sell her to the junkman first!”

“Maybe that would be better,” said Willard agreeably. “Well, perhaps I’ll come in again. I’ll think it over. If I were you I’d have someone wash it so you could see what it was like underneath the dirt.”

Mr. Saunders received the suggestion with a shrug, and the boys hurried out. “What did you mean by saying you were thinking of buying it?” asked Tom curiously. Willard shook his head.

“I’ll tell you at noon,” he said. “There isn’t time now. We’ve got only three minutes to get to school. Wait for me at the east door at recess, Tom.”

Tom’s lessons didn’t go very well that forenoon. Try as he might, he couldn’t get that automobile out of his head, and the schemes he evolved and abandoned to get possession of it were legion. After morning session he waited for Willard at the front entrance, and the two boys sought a quiet corner of the stone curbing about the high school grounds and opened their lunch-boxes. After Willard had taken the edge off his appetite by the consumption of three[15] sandwiches and a slice of pie he consented to satisfy Tom’s curiosity.

“My, but I was starved. I didn’t eat much breakfast, because I was afraid I’d miss you at your house, and I wanted to have a look at that car with you. You don’t think there’s much chance of your father buying it?”

“Well, all right,” and Willard began to peel and quarter an orange. “I spoke to my dad about that auto last night, Tom. You see, I got to thinking about it, after I left you, and it seemed to me like a pretty good idea. He said it sounded as though it might be a bargain, and he didn’t see why you couldn’t do pretty well bringing folks up from the station. We talked it all over, and—well, here’s my idea. See how you like it. You say you can’t get the money to buy it yourself. I don’t want to ‘butt in,’ Tom, but I’ve been thinking that perhaps you and I could go into the thing together, that is, if you don’t mind having a partner. Wait a minute! Now, suppose we get a man to look that car all over and tell us how much it would cost to put it in good shape. Dad knows of[16] just the chap. His name is Brennan, and he works in the machine shop down by the railroad. Dad says he’d probably do it for us for a dollar. Then, if he says the car can be fixed up for—well, say, fifty dollars, we’ll go ahead. You get your father to put in fifty, and I’ll put in fifty. That’ll make a hundred. We’ll pay fifty dollars down to Saunders, and we’ll spend fifty in having it repaired and painted. We’ll do the painting ourselves. That will leave us in debt about a hundred dollars. If it’s necessary I’ll put in another fifty, but if it isn’t we’ll pay off what we owe in installments. As the idea was yours, and, as you’ll do the work, you’ll get two-thirds of what we make, and I’ll get one-third. What do you say?”

“Yes. You know I got some money from my grandmother’s estate last Fall. I’m to use it for college, but I won’t need it all, and, anyway, if this thing works out the way we expect it to, it will be a good investment. Of course, I wouldn’t want to risk more than a hundred, Tom; I couldn’t afford to. Maybe you think you ought to get more than two-thirds, but dad thought that was fair, and——”

“That part’s all right,” said Tom. “Seems to me you ought to have more than a third of the earnings, Will.”

“No, because, you see, you’ll have to do the work.[17] I’d help when I could, but I don’t know how to run a car, and I’ll be rather busy this summer, getting ready for college in the fall.”

“Well, it’s a perfectly corking scheme,” said Tom, “but I’m terribly afraid that father won’t let me have the money. Perhaps, though, when I tell him that you’re going in with me, and think it’s all right, he may change his mind.”

“You keep at him,” laughed Willard. “Of course, there won’t be much in it for us for a while, because we’ll have to pay Saunders. But we ought to get our money back, in time, at least. Then, if the thing works well, we’ll find someone to run the car while you’re in school in the winter. Why, maybe we’ll get so rich that we’ll be able to buy a real motor ’bus, Tom!”

“Wouldn’t that be dandy!” said Tom softly. “I—I’m awfully much obliged to you, Will, and——”

“Oh, piffle! I’m going into it, as a—a business proposition, Tom. You don’t need to thank me. If I didn’t think I’d get my money back all right I wouldn’t think of it. Couldn’t afford to, Tom. You have a talk with your father as soon as you can, will you?”

“I wish you would. He’d think more of the scheme if you talked it up a little. Don’t you think so?”

“He might. We’ll try it. I’ll meet you after school and go with you. If he says yes, we’ll go on down to the machine shop and find this chap Brennan. We’ve got to know what the thing will cost, first of all.”

“And hadn’t we better stop and see Saunders right away, and get a—get the refusal of the automobile?” asked Tom uneasily. “Suppose someone else got ahead of us and bought it?”

“I don’t believe there’s much danger of that,” said Willard; “but maybe we’d better be on the safe side. So we’ll stop in and see the old codger first thing.”

Willard looked at his silver watch and shook his head. “No, the bell will ring in four minutes. If we’d thought of it sooner—but I don’t believe anyone will get ahead of us. By the way, don’t you have to have a license to run an automobile?”

“I think so. We’ll have to find out about that. How much do you suppose a license will cost?”

“I guess dad knows. I’ll ask him this evening. I[19] hope it doesn’t cost very much. A dog license costs three dollars, but I suppose that hasn’t anything to do with an automobile license. How long do you think it will take you to learn to run the thing, Tom?”

“About a week, I guess,” replied Tom vaguely. “Of course, there’s lots to learn about the engine part of it, but I guess you don’t have to know all that at first. There’s the bell. I’ll meet you after school, Will. And—and don’t be late, will you? It would be fierce if we got there and found Saunders had sold the car!”

But that fear proved vain when, five minutes after dismissal, the two boys reached the carriage works, rather anxious and quite breathless. The car was still there, looking, if anything, a trifle more dilapidated than before. Mr. Saunders had to be summoned from somewhere on the floor above, and, while they awaited him, they again looked over the car. It wasn’t a very commodious car. The rear seat was quite wide enough to take three passengers comfortably, but there was precious little leg room for them.

“We could put them in front,” said Tom. “It wouldn’t be very often we’d get more than three passengers at a load. I wonder what kind of a car it is.”

But search failed to reveal any until Willard found some almost illegible lettering on a brass plate running along the edge of the front flooring. They finally deciphered it. “Treffry Motor Co.” was the legend.

“Yes, I think so. I wonder how old it is. Saunders says three years, but I’ll wager——”

He didn’t have time to state what he was willing to wager, however, for at that moment Mr. Saunders appeared on the scene. Willard acted as spokesman.

“So I see.” The carriage man didn’t seem overly glad to find him there, Tom thought.

“Well, I want to have a man come up here and look the car over. If he says it can be repaired reasonably, I’ll pay you a hundred and twenty-five dollars for it, fifty dollars cash and the balance at the rate of twenty dollars a month.”

“Yes, but like as not you were expecting to pay ten or fifteen dollars’ commission to someone,” responded Willard cheerfully. “You won’t have to pay any commission, and that will save something.”

“Sure; interest on the balance of seventy-five dollars you’d be owing me. It would be four months before I’d get the last of it.”

“Oh, I see.” Willard looked doubtfully at Tom. “Well, I suppose interest at three per cent.——”

“On anything. I guess you don’t know a whole lot, after all, son. You want a fellow to come here and take the car to pieces?”

“Yes, and leave it spread all over the place, like as not, so I’ll never be able to get it together again! Who you going to send here?”

“Jimmy Brennan at the machine shop? I know him. Well, all right, but he’s got to put things together the way he finds ’em. You tell him that.”

“I will, Mr. Saunders. Now will you give me a refusal of the car until I hear what Mr. Brennan says about it?”

“I don’t know about that. I might miss a sale. How soon is he comin’, and when will you know whether you want to buy her or not?”

“I’m going to try and get him to come to-morrow. Then just as soon as I hear what he says——”

“I’ll give you an option until this time to-morrow, and that’s the best I can do,” said Mr. Saunders with finality. “Take it, or leave it. A hundred and twenty-five isn’t enough, anyway, for an automobile like that. Why, that car cost, new, ’most fifteen hundred dollars, I guess!”

“That isn’t very long,” said Willard, “but if it’s the best you’ll do, all right. Only I’m afraid Mr. Brennan is so busy——”

“Tell him to come this evening. I’ll give him the key if he will stop at my house. He knows where I live.”

“Thanks. I’ll ask him to, then. Much obliged.” As they started out Mr. Saunders called Tom back.

“Look here,” he whispered, “I agreed to give you ten dollars, son, but that was for selling her for a hundred and fifty. This fellow’s only going to pay a hundred and twenty-five, and not all cash, either. So I can’t give you more’n five dollars; understand?”

“I don’t want any commission at all, thank you, Mr. Saunders,” replied Tom.

“Oh!” Mr. Saunders looked relieved. “Well, that’s all right, then. Can this fellow pay the money? Who is he?”

“He can pay, all right, Mr. Saunders. His name is Willard Morris. His father——”

“But why didn’t you take the five?” asked Willard, when Tom repeated the conversation outside. “Every dollar helps, you know.”

“Yes, but it didn’t seem quite fair, when I was sort of half buying it myself.”

“No, that’s so. Now you’d better talk to your father first, and then I’ll say my piece.”

Mr. Benton was at his desk, in the little, partitioned-off office, and the boys quite filled the tiny space. Perhaps Tom’s father had been thinking about the plan since the evening before, and had changed his views, for it required hardly any persuasion to gain his agreement. “Yes, Tom, I’ll advance you fifty dollars, if you decide to buy it,” he said, when Tom had explained. “But you mustn’t come to me for any more afterward, because I simply can’t let you have it. We’ll make a business proposition of it, and you’ll pay me back the fifty from time to time. Is that satisfactory?”

“I’ll have it ready for you. I’m glad you’re going to share the risk with him, Willard. Two heads are better than one. Besides, if the plan fails, you’ll each stand to lose less. That all you wanted, Tom?”

“Yes, sir. I’m awfully much obliged, father. And—and, if we buy that car, we’re going to make a go of it, aren’t we, Will?”

They climbed over a pile of empty mail bags and made their way out of the post-office with jubilant faces.

“Fine and dandy! Now, let’s hustle down and find this fellow Brennan. We’ve got to persuade him to look that car over to-night.”

It was a good stiff walk to the railroad, and then they had to go along the track for some distance to where Gerrish & Hanford’s machine shop stood—a rickety, brown, wooden building, filled with the din and clatter of machinery. Jimmy Brennan proved to be a small, red-haired chap, some four years older than Willard. He had a smooch of black grease on his tilted nose, which lent his countenance quite a weird expression. Jimmy—for it wasn’t long before they were calling him that—heard their errand and asked no questions until Willard had finished. Then:

“Sure,” he agreed. “I’ll look her over for you, but I don’t see how I can do it to-night, boys. I got a sort of an engagement for this evening. Maybe to-morrow night——”

“But we’ve only got the option until to-morrow afternoon,”[26] objected Tom. “Don’t you think you might manage to do it to-night, Mr. Brennan? We wouldn’t want to lose the car, if it really proved to be a good one, you see.”

Jimmy scowled thoughtfully at a lathe. At last, his face clearing, “All right,” he said. “I’ll do it somehow. Maybe it’ll be late, but that won’t matter if Saunders will let me have the key. I’ll do it. Where’ll I see you to-morrow? Will you be back here?”

“We’ll come down in the morning, before school,” replied Willard. “How much will you charge to do it?”

“Oh, that’ll be all right; it won’t cost you much. I’ll have to charge according to my time, I suppose.”

Willard was for letting it stand so, but Tom said firmly: “I don’t believe you’d overcharge us, Mr. Brennan, but we haven’t much money, and so, if you wouldn’t mind giving us an idea as to about what it would be worth——”

“Well, say two dollars, at the outside. If I can do it for less I will, boys. I won’t stick you.”

“We-ell,” began Tom doubtfully. But Willard pulled his sleeve, as he said: “That’ll be all right, I think. What we want is to know just what it would cost to fix her up to run, you know.”

“Why, we thought maybe you would. That is, if you had the time,” said Tom. “Will’s father, Mr. Morris, you know, said he thought you would.”

“Why, maybe I could. I’d have to work evenings, of course. If I found she was worth fixing, and it didn’t cost too much, and I got the job, why, I wouldn’t charge you anything for looking her over to-night.”

“Thank you,” said Tom. “Then we’ll come down in the morning and hear the—the verdict.”

Going back, the boys cut across lots, behind the railroad yards, and over Town Brook, and were soon back at Tom’s house on Cross Street. All the way they speculated and planned, and, once perched on the front steps, they began to reckon the cost of their undertaking again. Tom got a piece of paper from the house, and Willard supplied a pencil.

“Now then,” said the latter, “put down fifty dollars for the first payment. Then, say, it costs fifty dollars more to put the car in shape. Got that down? That’s a hundred, isn’t it? Well, then, if we paint her ourselves, it oughtn’t to cost more than ten dollars at the outside; not so much, maybe.”

“Can we do it ourselves?” asked Tom. “Wouldn’t we have to take the old paint and varnish off first, Will?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. It would be a hard job, if we did, wouldn’t it? We could find out about that,[28] I guess; ask a painter. Anyhow, it wouldn’t take much money. Did you put down ten dollars?”

“Then”—Willard paused—“look here, Tom, where are we going to keep her?”

“I’ve thought of that,” answered Tom. “There’s lots of room in our stable, if I can get dad to let me put the old buggy in storage somewhere. We don’t use it now, you know, since Peter died summer before last. Dad’s been talking of getting another horse, but I don’t believe he will. I guess Saunders would store the buggy for us pretty cheap.”

“We’ll make it a part of the bargain,” declared Willard. “That’s settled, then, and we won’t have to pay for a place to keep the car. Now, what’s next?”

“I suppose gasoline and lubricating oil,” suggested the other. “I inquired about gasoline, and it costs twenty-two cents, by the gallon, or eighteen, if you buy fifty gallons or more. Maybe it would be a good idea to buy a lot and get the discount. Only thing is, we wouldn’t have anything to keep it in.”

“We could get it by the barrel, couldn’t we? Doesn’t it come in barrels? Sure, it must. Look here, how far does a gallon run a car?”

“I don’t know,” owned Tom. “I must get a book about automobiles and study up. I’ll go over to the library this evening. I guess they’ve got one there.”

“Must have. Why don’t you walk up with me when I go home? And, by the way, there’s a fellow on Linden street who sells autos; has an agency for them. I suppose he’d tell us a lot about them if I asked him.”

“Well, what if he did? We wouldn’t have to, would we? He could tell us about gasoline and oil and things like that, I guess. And, about getting a license, too. That’s another thing we’ll have to reckon in. Say we call it five dollars. It won’t be more than that, I’ll bet. Put down five for a license, Tom. How much is that?”

“Golly! It mounts up, doesn’t it? And we haven’t counted in gasoline yet. How much would we have to have to start with?”

“The tank holds ten gallons, I think. And ten gallons, it seems to me, ought to last a week easily.”

“Well, then, put down ten gallons of gasoline at twenty-two cents a gallon.”

“Well, there we are. Now we’re ready for business.[30] Now, the question is, how many folks could we carry in a week?”

“Well, there are six express trains a day—three each way,” answered Tom. “Most of the traveling men come on the morning express and go away in the afternoon. Suppose we got three passengers each way for those two trains, Will. That would be three dollars a day. Six times three would be eighteen! Why, that’s a lot!”

“Oh, I don’t think dad would like me to run the car on Sundays. Besides, no one comes or goes then, anyway, I guess.”

“That’s so. Eighteen a week, then; and we might make a lot more some weeks, mightn’t we? And four times eighteen is seventy-two. We’d make seventy-two dollars a month! And, out of that, we’d have to pay Saunders twenty, and buy gasoline and oil and things, and maybe repairs; although, if Brennan made a good job of it, it doesn’t seem as though we’d have many repairs for a good while. Hold on, though, Tom! What about tires?”

Tom looked blank. “I’d forgotten those,” he muttered. “And they say tires cost an awful lot. And the tires on the car now don’t look as though they’d last a minute!”

“You bet they don’t. That means we might have[31] to buy four new ones right away. Thunder, I wish automobiles had only two wheels! How much do you suppose they cost, Tom?”

Tom shook his head helplessly. “About—oh, maybe fifteen dollars apiece; maybe twenty!”

“Golly!” Willard frowned a moment in silence. Then, “Well, let’s suppose we have to buy two new tires right away at twenty each. That makes forty more. Put it down, Tom. How much now?”

“H-m; and we’ll have a hundred only. Guess I’ll have to put in another fifty, Tom.”

“If—if the tires that are on the car now proved to be all right for a while,” answered Tom, “we could get by with a hundred, couldn’t we? That is, pretty nearly.”

“Yes. If we could get along until the end of the first month we’d be all right. Because we’d have to pay out of the seventy-two only twenty dollars to Saunders——”

“That wouldn’t be much—only about”—Willard calculated mentally—“only about thirty cents. Then there’d be, say, ten dollars more, for gasoline and such things. That would leave us with a profit of forty-two dollars, Tom. And with that we could buy two[32] tires. I suppose we’d better make up our minds to putting most of our profits back into the business for a month or two.”

Tom nodded. “I think so. Gee, but I wish I knew now what Brennan is going to tell us to-morrow. I—I’d be awfully disappointed, if he told us the car wasn’t worth fixing, Will.”

“So would I be. I’ve sort of set my heart on the scheme now. Well, we’ll just hope for the best, Tom. Now I must be getting along. Coming up to the library?”

“Yes, I’ll go and get that book. It won’t hurt to know something about automobiles, even if—if we don’t get this one, Will.”

If you will look at your map of Rhode Island you will discover that the northern portion of that small but important state consists of the county of Providence, which, unlike most New England counties, is surprisingly square in form. In the southeast corner the Providence river has wedged its way in, and seemingly pushed the boundary a few miles into the state of Massachusetts, but otherwise Providence county is beautifully symmetrical, a thing of rectangles and equal sides—if you haven’t too true an eye!

Taking the city of Pawtucket as a base—and you’ll find it due north of Providence, on the upper reach of the river—and, going westward, about half-way across the county and state, you’ll find yourself in a region of lakes and rivers and streams, a region as full of queer-sounding Indian names as a pudding is full of plums. Here is Moswansicut pond and Pochasset river, and Pockanosset branch, and many others.[34] And, among them, if you’ll look very, very closely, you’ll find Fountain lake, which, being smaller than the surrounding bodies of water called ponds, is by the law of contraries termed a lake. And, from Fountain lake, trailing south into the Pawtuxet, is Fountain river.

It is a small stream and unimportant. In fact, in its upper reaches it is hardly more than a good-sized trout brook, although, unfortunately, the trout have long since left it. Twelve miles below Fountain lake is the town of Audelsville, named many years ago for a certain German farmer, whose holdings at that time comprised thousands of acres thereabouts. Audelsville to-day is a big and busy town of some six thousand inhabitants. There are two big mills there, one manufacturing paper, and one cotton cloth, and these mills, with the railroad repair shops, account for fully half of the population. Audelsville has some of the ear-marks of a city. There’s a local street railway, which, starting at the railroad station by the river, proceeds somewhat leisurely to the business center of the town, and there forms a loop before it returns. And the main trolley line between Providence and Graywich runs right through Main Street, past Dunlop & Toll’s Mammoth Department Store, and the Common, with its white, clapboarded Court House, and its red brick Town Hall, and the post-office—which[35] occupies a corner of the Centennial Block—and Meechin’s Hotel, and Hall & Dugget’s Cut-Price Drug Emporium, and within a quarter of a block of the Opera House, which stands out of sight up Main Street Court. Take it on a busy day, say a Saturday, at about eleven in the morning, when two of the big trolleys are passing at the siding almost in front of the hotel, and the station car is waiting at the corner of Main and Walnut streets for the track, and there are a lot of folks in from the country, why, you might almost think at first glance that you were in a real city, like, say, Pawtucket!

The railroad—the steam railroad, I mean now—enters Audelsville along the bank of the river, and back from the track, occupying the northern side of town, lie the mills and the railroad yards and the car shops, and block after block of monotonous small houses occupied by the operatives. It isn’t until you cross Washington Street that the town becomes attractive. There are some pleasant, comfortable, old-fashioned dwellings on Washington Street. Then comes Main Street, with its retail stores and principal business blocks, and after that, still traveling south, you reach the newer part of the town that is called The Hill. There are some fine residences there; Mr. Dunlop’s, for instance, which occupies a whole half block opposite the public library and the high school;[36] and Mr. Martin’s, which is all of brown sandstone, with a wonderful red-tile roof, and has a great semi-circular conservatory at one end. (Mr. Martin is superintendent at the Paper Mills and owns a lot of stock in the business, they say.) The Hill, its real name is Myer’s Hill, rises to a considerable height above the rest of town, and from the top, say from the front steps of the high school building, or Mr. Dunlop’s veranda, one can see for many miles up and down the shallow valley. Fountain lake is quite plain to the northward, and on clear days one may see Providence.

The Hill, however, is the location of wealth and aristocracy, and we have little interest in it at present. Neither Tom Benton nor Willard Morris lived on The Hill. Tom’s folks occupied a small white-painted, green-shuttered house on Cross Street, one street back of Washington, while Willard lived with his father, mother and younger sister on Lincoln Street, almost at the corner of Main, and some five blocks distant from Tom’s. Consequently when, the following morning, they met to hurry down to the machine shop before school commenced, Willard walked through to Washington Street and waited there in the shade of a big horse-chestnut tree until Tom came around the corner of Walnut Street and waved gaily from a block away. They were both in high spirits this morning,[37] and neither was willing to entertain a doubt as to the success of their project. Tom had sat up half the night reading a book on automobiles and was full to the brim with strange lore which he unloaded upon his friend as they hurried toward the railroad.

“You see,” he said, drawing shapes in the air with his hands, “here’s your cylinder, Will; like that; understand?” Willard nodded doubtfully. “And underneath here is the crank case. Your cylinder is open into the crank case and closed at the top. Now, then, here’s a piston working up and down, like this; see? The gas is admitted to the top of the cylinder, above the piston, through what is called an inlet valve. Then it is exploded while under—er—compression——”

“That’ll do,” laughed Willard. “You keep the rest and show me about it on the engine. Anyhow, here we are at the shop. Suppose he’s here yet?”

That question was soon answered, once they were inside, for Jimmy Brennan, looking somewhat tired and cross, saw them as they entered and, laying aside the job he was on, went to meet them.

“Well, I went over her for you,” he announced when he had drawn them to the comparative quiet of the stock room. “I was up till most two o’clock.”

Jimmy scowled disgustedly. “I found out that that car is fitter for the scrap heap than anything else, fellows. Why, there’s hardly a part of her that don’t need fixin’!”

The boys’ faces fell. “Then—then you don’t think it would pay to repair her?” asked Willard.

Jimmy examined a callus on one hand in silence for a moment. Then: “Well, I don’t know. How much was you willin’ to pay out on her? That’s the question, I guess. I don’t say she can’t be fixed up, ’cause I guess she can. You wouldn’t ever have a nice, quiet-runnin’ car, maybe, but there’s a good engine there and I guess it’ll pull most any load you’d be likely to put on it. She wouldn’t exactly be speedy, either.”

“It isn’t speed we want, I think,” said Tom relievedly. “If you could fix her up so she’d run pretty well for——” He looked at Willard.

“Yes, say fifty dollars,” went on Tom, “why, we’d be willing to pay it.”

“Fifty dollars, eh? Humph! I don’t know as I could promise that. She needs quite a few new parts.” He pulled a little red-leather notebook from his pocket and thumbed the pages. “I made a few memorandums here somewhere. Here they are. In the first place the cylinders are pretty badly scored, but it[39] wouldn’t pay to put in new ones. I guess if they were well cleaned they’d answer. You need two new wrist-pins, though. Then your gears are badly worn; you’d have to have new gears. And you’d have to wire her all over again. Your carburetor—well, I guess that could be fixed all right; same with the magneto. I didn’t have time to take that apart. You’ve got two broken leaves on one forward spring. You need new hose couplings on your pump. The connecting rods will have to be taken up, but that’s no job.”

Jimmy closed his book again and studied a moment. Tom and Willard eyed each other hopelessly. It sounded like an awful lot! Finally: “Well, say, I’ll take the job for fifty-five dollars, boys, and that’s the best I could do. I wouldn’t do it for that if it wasn’t that I can use a little extra money. I’d have to work on her nights and holidays, of course. Where you going to put her?”

Tom told him about the stable and Jimmy nodded. “That’s all right, if your folks won’t object to the noise. Well, there’s my offer, boys. I’d like to help you out, understand; otherwise I wouldn’t take the job less’n seventy-five.”

“Depends. Maybe two weeks. Maybe three. I’d[40] have to send to the factory for the new parts, you see. Better say three weeks, I guess.”

“And you think that when you got through with it—her—she would be all right, Mr. Brennan?”

“I think she’d run smooth. That’s all I’d guarantee. She’s an old car; must be six years old, I suppose; and she isn’t as nifty as the ones they make now. But she’s built strong, all right. She’s got a good engine. What was you wanting her for principally?”

“Just—just to run around town in,” answered Willard. They hadn’t confided to Jimmy the real purpose to which they intended putting the car.

“Oh, she’d last twenty years, likely, around town. ’Course if you was thinkin’ of doing much tourin’ with her, why, that’s different. She wouldn’t stand it long. But just around here on good roads, why, she’d last a good while, boys.”

“Then——” Tom looked at Willard for confirmation—“then I guess you’d better do it, if you will. When could you start?”

“To-night. You get her hauled around to your stable and I’ll start in this evening to take her down.”

“That will be fine! That is, if I can get the carriage taken away to-day. If I can’t I’ll let you know. Have you a telephone here?”

“Yes, 48-W. I’ll be here till four. If you can’t[41] get her around to-day let me know and I’ll start to-morrow. That’s a bargain, then, fellows. I’m to put her in good runnin’ shape; best I know how; and you pay me fifty-five dollars when she’s done. All right. See you later.”

There wasn’t much chance for conversation on the way back, for it lacked only fifteen minutes of school time and the high school was a good mile and a quarter distant. Once on River Street they broke into a jog-trot and kept it up until they turned into Logan Street and the sidewalk began to tilt upward. After that trotting was out of the question, but, although there was time to talk, neither had enough breath left. As they entered the school grounds and followed the gravel path that curved to the west entrance of the big yellow brick building they managed to gasp out an agreement to meet after morning session. Then the doorway swallowed them and each hurried away to his room with only the fraction of a minute to spare.

I don’t think that either Willard or Tom showed up very brilliantly that day at studies. Their minds were much too full of the automobile. At recess they stole away from the crowd and sat side by side on the[43] granite coping beyond the library and talked it all over again, and could scarcely wait for school to end so that they could get the money and seal the bargain with Mr. Saunders. Tom became so interested that he quite forgot to finish his luncheon, and the bell found him still possessed of two perfectly good bananas and a piece of chocolate layer cake. He managed the cake on the way back, however, and consigned the bananas to his pockets for future reference.

At three-thirty the bargain was completed. Willard’s father, whose cabinet shop was but two blocks distant, was on hand and he and the carriage man soon had the papers fixed up. Willard engaged to pay the sum of twenty dollars monthly until the full amount of one hundred and twenty-five dollars had been paid. The interest was to be at five per cent., and the title of the car remained with Mr. Saunders until the final payment had been made. Tom handed over his fifty dollars in cash, Willard and his father signed the papers and the car, to all intents and purposes, was theirs!

Mr. Saunders had demurred at first at having to include storage of the Bentons’ buggy in his part of the bargain, but Willard had been firm and in the end the carriage man had consented. Mr. Morris went back to his shop and Tom and Willard hurried down[44] Main Street and around to the rear of the hotel, to where Connors’ stables stood. There a bargain was soon made. The liveryman was to go to Saunders’ shop with a stout rope and haul the automobile over to the Bentons’ stable. At first he wanted a dollar and a quarter, but the boys beat him down to seventy-five cents. From there they hurried around to Tom’s house and Tom found the stable key. After they had run the buggy out to the yard they looked over the quarters. The carriage room was not very large, but it would serve the purpose well enough. Tom pointed out that they could build a bench under the window at the side and after a while make their own repairs. Fortunately the stable had been wired for electricity a few years before and Jimmy Brennan would have no difficulty finding plenty of light for his work. Some boxes and a decrepit wheelbarrow were moved into the box-stall out of the way and Tom found an old stable broom and swept the floor fairly clean.

“We’ll have to put up some shelves, I suppose, for oil and grease and things,” said Tom. “And where can we keep the gasoline if we get a barrel full at a time?”

“Dad says you’ll have to keep it out of doors and away from buildings,” replied Willard. “Let’s have a look.”

So they went outside and soon found a place for it some twelve feet from the stable and a little further from the house. It was rather far from the grass-grown drive that led from stable to street, but Tom declared that it wouldn’t be any trick to lug the gasoline in a pail from the barrel to the car. Besides, he pointed out, there was a pear tree there and the foliage would serve as a roof. To make assurance doubly sure Tom went into the house and informed Jimmy Brennan by telephone that the car would be there that evening ready for him to work on. Then the boys each took a shaft of the buggy and gaily started along Cross Street for Saunders’ Carriage Works. They had only three blocks to go with it, but it seemed as though every fellow they knew was encountered in that short journey! Near the corner of Spruce Street, Jimmy Lippit was leaning over his front gate and hailed them with delight.

“Give me a ride, will you?” Jimmy, who was a slim, freckle-faced boy of fifteen, emerged from his yard and joined them. “Go on, Tom, let me get in there, will you?”

Teddy Thurston had stolen up behind and was pushing heroically, and Tom and Willard had to dig their heels in the dirt to keep from being run down. Willard chased Teddy to the sidewalk, but in the meantime Jimmy had crawled into the buggy. It took several minutes to dislodge him and by the time he was pulled out four or five other fellows had congregated. Tom and Willard were vastly outnumbered and the buggy completed its journey most spectacularly. Jimmy Lippit and a boy named Converse occupied the seat, two small boys sat in the box behind and the rest helped pull. The buggy crossed Washington Street in defiance of all speed regulations—if there were any in Audelsville—and to the accompaniment of much laughter and shouting. Jimmy held an imaginary pair of reins and cracked an imaginary whip, while Converse clutched him in simulated terror as the vehicle bounded over the car rails.

“Faster, you old plugs!” commanded Jimmy, slashing the imaginary whip. “Faster, or I’ll sell the lot of you!”

Down Walnut Street they galloped, the buggy[47] creaking and protesting in every spring and rivet, and drew up with a final flourish in front of the carriage works.

“Whoa!” shouted Jimmy. “Whoa, you ponies! Say, I guess I’m some driver, fellows! Did you see me pull ’em back on their haunches? Mr. Saunders, please unharness my steeds.”

Mr. Saunders, who had emerged from the shop in response to the hubbub, grinned as he directed Tom to take the buggy further along and run it on to the elevator. “You tell your father that if he wants to sell this he’s to let me know. I might find a customer for it. When you going to fetch that automobile away?”

“He’s coming now, I think,” said Willard, as a team drawn by a pair of dancing, half-broken colts came around the corner.

If the trip with the buggy had been exciting the journey home with the automobile was more so. Tom and Willard refused to answer questions, but that didn’t keep the others from piling into the automobile as soon as it was under way. Jimmy secured the driver’s seat and performed wonderfully on the wheezy horn all the way to the stable. Tom and Willard chose to accompany the car on foot, but the rest of[48] the fellows all managed to get into or onto it, and the new owners feared for the springs. No accidents happened, however, although when the young horses were confronted by a trolley car on Washington Street it looked for a minute as though there would be a runaway with a second-hand automobile doing a snap-the-whip through town. Tom and Willard had to laugh to see how quickly the boys tumbled out of the car when the horses began to plunge! Finally, however, the car was safely deposited in the yard and helping hands rolled it into the stable, or, as Tom had begun to call it now, the garage.

It was no longer possible to avoid an explanation and so the two boys acknowledged that they had bought the car.

“What you going to do with it?” demanded Teddy Thurston, kicking a tattered tire contemptuously.

Jimmy laughed loudly. “I’d like to see either of you fellows run an auto! Besides, if it will run why didn’t you run it around here instead of having it hauled?”

“It isn’t in running order now,” replied Tom with dignity. “We’re going to have it all fixed up.”

“Bet you it will take some fixing,” observed another youth. “Looks to me like it was ready to fall[49] apart. Did you have to buy it or did he give it to you?”

“He traded it for the buggy,” said Jimmy, “and gave him something to boot. You can’t beat old Saunders on a trade!”

“That’s all right,” replied Willard smilingly. “You fellows will be standing around begging for a ride in a week or two.”

“Yes, we will!” jeered Teddy. “I wouldn’t trust myself in that thing with you for a thousand dollars, Will!”

“All right; remember that,” said Willard. “Hustle along now; we’re going to lock up!”

“Lock up!” exclaimed Jimmy with a wicked grin. “Great shakes! You don’t think anyone’s going to steal it, do you?”

The visitors thought of a great many other gibes before they finally dispersed, leaving Tom and Willard in sole possession of the front steps. Long after he was out of sight under the trees that lined the street they could hear Jimmy Lippit imitating the wheezy horn on which he had performed so busily.

Tom nodded. “It—it didn’t look quite so bunged-up when it was in Saunders’, did it?”

“No.” Willard pulled a twig from the honeysuckle vine and sniffed it thoughtfully. “I say, Tom.”

“We—we’re putting an awful lot of money into this. Suppose we didn’t make it go!”

“I mean suppose the scheme didn’t go, Tom. Think of the money we’d lose!”

“I know.” Tom nodded. “I don’t like to think of it, Will. We—we’ve just got to make it go! That’s all there is to it! We’ve just got to, Will!”

“I’m afraid,” observed Willard, laying his brush down and straightening some of the kinks from his back, “that there’ll be more gnats and flies on here than paint. Wonder how it would do to rig a mosquito netting over us, Tom.”

“They are pretty bad, and that’s a fact,” agreed Tom without ceasing the slap-slap of his brush. “I’ve picked off a couple of hundred this morning, I guess.”

They were in the stable loft, with the swinging doors wide open and the little back yard and garden spread beneath them in the hot sunshine of a mid-June day. It was Saturday morning and they were courageously applying the second coat of gray paint to the automobile body. Jimmy Brennan had suggested that it would be a simple matter to hoist the body up into the loft by block and tackle and that up there it would be both out of his way and where the boys could work on it to their hearts’ content. They had had a harder job than anticipated, for the[52] old finish on the car, while stained and rubbed, cracked and flaked, was as hard as baked enamel when it came to removing it; and they had been assured that it would be necessary to remove it before applying new paint. They had worked most of four afternoons with patent paint removers and sand paper before the task had been accomplished. Even then the corners and under surfaces hardly bore critical examination. But the new paint seemed to take very well and the first coat, while a bit thin and streaky in places, had worked a wonderful change in the appearance of the body. The second coat was going on now, and after that had dried there would be two coats of varnish.

Downstairs the chassis of the car stood dismantled, with parts distributed all over the floor. To Tom and Willard it looked a most forlorn and discouraging scene. It was terribly hard to convince themselves that Jimmy would ever succeed in getting all those gears and rods and bolts and wheels and things back in their proper places again! Just now the work was lagging because the factory had not sent the parts ordered.

“When we get this coat on we can’t do any more for a while, can we?” asked Willard hopefully, dipping his brush again with a sigh and returning to his labor.

“N-no, I guess not. Mustn’t forget the hood, though. We’ve got the second coat to put on that yet.” Tom glanced over his shoulder to where the object mentioned stood on end like a letter W. Willard painted in silence after a discouraged glance at the hood. The noon whistle at the paper mill suddenly burst into a hoarse bellow and Willard sighed again and scowled at the paint pot. Finally:

“All right,” said Tom. “You stop whenever you want to. I’ll do the hood after dinner. It won’t take long.”

“No, you’ve got to stop, too. If I go off and leave you up here in the heat and the flies I’ll feel like I ought to come back and help you. So you’ve got to take a holiday, too. I’ll stop around for you at two and we’ll go and see the game.”

Willard observed him pityingly. “The game of baseball, Tom. Between Audelsville High School and Providence Preparatory Academy. Played on the Meadow Street Field at three o’clock. Baseball, Tom, is a game played with bat and ball. And the Audelsville High School is—er—an institution of learning[54] in the town of Audelsville, Rhode Island. Ever hear of it?”

“You’re an idiot,” laughed Tom. “I’d forgotten we played Providence Prep to-day.”

“Of course you had. You’ve forgotten everything except this—this tiresome old automobile!” And Willard slapped at the body viciously with his brush. “Do you know, Tom, you don’t talk anything but motors nowadays? Sometimes I think that if you say just one more word about differentials or—or gears or any of those things I’ll put my head back and howl!”

“Worse! That’s why you’ve got to knock off this afternoon and get your mind off the thing. Why, the first thing you know you’ll have brain fever or automobilitis!”

“Something, anyhow. So you’ve got to come to the game. And if you say one single word about automobiles all the afternoon I’ll—I’ll beat you!”

“All right, I’ll come then,” Tom laughed. “Not that I’m afraid of a little runt like you, though.”

“Not much. I’m almost at the bottom. Are you going to have the—the running gear the same shade?”

“Yes. I thought first we’d have it lighter, but I guess it will look just as well to have the body and the chassis the same tone. Do you?”

“Sure; more toney!” The boys painted for a while in silence. Then: “When are we going to get those things from the factory?” Willard asked. Tom shook his head.

“I don’t know. Jimmy wrote to them again yesterday. He says that if they don’t send the parts soon he will go and get them.”

“Yes. I wish they’d come, though. I’d like to have the car all ready when school closes, wouldn’t you? How long do you suppose it will take me to learn to run it, Will?”

“Jimmy said he could teach you in two days,” replied Willard doubtfully. “But if I was learning I’d want about two months!”

“Automobiles are awfully interesting things,” said Tom thoughtfully. “I’ve learned a lot about them, Will.”

“I should think you might! You’ve been out here with Jimmy every evening since he started to wreck the car for us. Between that old book of yours and[56] the questions you’ve asked I should think you’d be able to build an auto yourself!”

“Jimmy knows a lot about machinery, and he’s been dandy about telling me things I wanted to know. When he assembles the engine again I’m to help him, Will.”

“Well, I guess he will need help,” said Willard. “For my part I don’t believe you’ll ever get it together again. There, that’s the last. My, but I’m tired. Painting certainly makes your arm ache.”

“Chester, they say. I suppose there’s no use being captain if you can’t do what you want, but we’d stand a heap better show of winning if he’d let Billy Younger pitch. Chester hasn’t a thing but a fast ball and a sort of a slow drop that only works about once in ten times.”

“Billy’s the best pitcher we’ve had since I can remember,” said Tom. “I’m glad we’ll have him again next year.” Tom gave a final pat with his brush, dropped it into the paint pot and sighed. “That’s all done. How does it look?”

“Sort of thin in places, isn’t it?” asked Willard. “Under the front seat there——”

“The varnish will bring that out all right. I wonder if varnish is harder to put on than paint.”

“I hope not!” Willard groaned. “If I could afford it, Tom, I’d hire a painter to do the rest of the job.”

Tom laughed. “Oh, you’ll feel better by Monday. Let’s go and wash up. Will you have some dinner with me?”

“No, I told mother I’d surely be home. Why don’t you come over and eat with me? Then we’ll be all ready to start for the field.”

“I’ll ask if I may,” answered Tom, as they clattered down the steep stairway to the carriage house below. “Sure your mother won’t mind?”

“Not a bit. She’ll be glad to have you. Isn’t this enough to turn you gray?” And Willard paused at the carriage house door and viewed the confusion dejectedly. “Two weeks ago we had a perfectly good car, Tom, and now look at it! You needn’t tell me that Jimmy or anyone else knows how to put all those things together again!”

“Of course he does. Why, I could pretty nearly do it myself! Of course I’d have to study it out a bit——”

“My, but you’re getting a swelled head, Tom! You’ll be telling me pretty soon that you invented automobiles!”

Ten minutes later the boys were walking along[58] Washington Street to Willard’s house. One of Connors’ hacks rolled by on the way to the hotel and Willard, looking after it, shook his head pityingly.

“There won’t be much for them to do, Tom, when we get The Ark moving, eh?” Willard had dubbed the automobile The Ark in a facetious moment, and, although Tom had protested, the name had stuck. Tom smiled.

“What I’m afraid of,” he replied, “is that Connors will go and put on an automobile himself. He could, you know.”

“Maybe he could, but he won’t. Livery men hate the things like poison. I wonder if he will try to make trouble for us, Tom.”

“Connors? I don’t see how he could,” Tom objected. “We have a perfect right to run an automobile if we want to.”

“Y-yes, but Connors isn’t the sort of man to sit down and twiddle his thumbs if he sees anyone getting business away from him. Dad was saying the other day that Connors wouldn’t like it much, and was telling how he had driven two or three other livery men out of business here.”

“Well, I don’t see how he could drive us out of business, Will,” replied Tom as they entered the Morris gate. “Gee, something smells mighty good! And I’m as hungry as a bear!”

“Indian pudding,” replied Willard laconically, as they passed into the house. “It’s Saturday.”

At half-past two the boys started out for the high school athletic field, which lay between Meadow Street and the railroad, west of town. Their way led them along Main Street for a half mile and then across a sun-smitten field abloom with daisies and buttercups, and so to Meadow Street and the entrance to the ball grounds. They had long since ceased to be alone, and by the time they were getting out their quarters to pay for admissions they were with a group of a half-dozen merry youths in holiday mood. Jerry Lippit was of the number. Jerry was in baseball togs, being a substitute infielder, carried a bat and had a fielder’s glove dangling from his belt. He got into a game about twice in a season, but he believed in being prepared!

The Providence team was having practice when Tom and Willard and three or four others made their way to the “bleachers.” (There was a first-rate grand stand, with backs to the benches and a roof overhead, but seats thereon cost fifteen cents extra, and neither Tom nor Willard was in the habit of occupying them.) It was pretty hot on the bleachers, with the sun slanting down on your head, and Tom and Willard followed the example of the boys already there and took off their jackets. Jerry, who had stopped to remind[60] Captain Chester Madden of his existence and willingness to help the team in an emergency, joined the group presently and sandwiched himself in between Tom and “Spider” Wells.

“Is he going to let you play?” inquired Spider, who was a tall, thin youth with mild blue eyes and a shock of corn-colored hair.

“When all the others are killed off,” replied Jerry cheerfully. “Say, those chaps look pretty husky, don’t they?”

It was agreed that they did, and Teddy Thurston, who was seated behind Willard, digging his sharp knees into that youth’s back, had an admiring word for the natty gray uniforms and purple stockings of the Providence team.

“They look like plums,” commented Jerry. “The Providence Plums! How’s that for a name?”

“So do I. If we beat ’em I shall call them the Providence Prunes. There goes Chester to warm up. Who’s he pitching to, Tom?”

Jerry winked meaningly. “Ches wants some glory. They’ll bat him out of the box in three innings; you see if they don’t.”

“Hope they do,” said Spider Wells, blinking almost[61] vindicatively. “Chester’s all the time trying to do things he can’t.”

“He can play third base,” said Willard. “I wish he’d stay there. I suppose Tucker will play third. Look at the bunch of girls in the grand stand, will you!”

“I pretty nearly got soaked for two grand stand seats,” said Teddy Thurston. “My sister wanted to come, but she got a headache the last time and I reminded mother of it and she said Bess couldn’t come. I’m in fifty-five cents.”

“That’ll do for sodas when we get back,” suggested Jerry. “Any fellow who will put up a game like that on his sister has to pay for it, doesn’t he, fellows?”

It was the unanimous opinion of the crowd that he did, and Teddy, after mentally figuring the expense, hesitatingly agreed. “Only,” he bargained, “it’s to be straight soda, fellows; no ice-creams, you know!”

Jerry was for combating that ultimatum, but at the moment the Audelsville team, in their gray and blue suits, took the field for practice, and Jerry turned his attention to the home players.

“Who’s going to score?” asked Spider, taking a scorebook from his pocket and tentatively wetting the tip of a pencil between his lips. Spider was an indefatigable scorer, but as he was never able to quite[62] keep up with the plays it was necessary for his success that someone else nearby should keep the score as well. Willard shook his head.

“I forgot to bring mine,” he said. Spider looked troubled until Teddy Thurston brought forth a scorebook and borrowed a pencil from Tom. By that time Audelsville had enjoyed her five minutes of fielding and batting practice and Mr. Chase, the Assistant Principal, walked out to the plate.

“Chase is going to umpire,” commented Willard. “That means we’ll get a square deal.”

“So will the other fellows,” said Tom. “Now let’s see what they do to Chester.”

The first one of the enemy was thrown out at first and the second barely beat the ball out and was called safe. A sacrifice bunt placed the runner on second base and, with two down, the local sympathizers breathed more freely. But the next batsman, after waiting until Chester Madden had put himself in a hole with three balls, found one to his taste and wrapped a hot liner over second baseman’s head. Rightfielder came in hard and threw to the plate, but the ball got there a fraction of a second after the runner had crossed it in a cloud of dust, and Providence had scored.

A pop fly to shortstop made the third out and the teams changed places. Lyman, the diminutive shortstop,[63] hit past the Providence pitcher and reached first on second baseman’s error. But, although he got down to second when Ness was put out at first, he died there, for both Cook and Madden fanned. There was no more scoring by either team until the fourth. Madden settled down and displayed a very fair article of ball. He had but one strike-out to his credit, and most of the enemy connected with his slants in one way or another, but a deal of sharp fielding and a lot of good luck saved him until the first half of the inning mentioned. Then things went bad from the start for the Blues’ captain.

The first purple-stockinged batsman took the first delivery, which was a fast, straight ball, and sent it arching far out into centerfield. Perhaps Cook should have got under it, but he didn’t, thus saving himself from a possible error and allowing the runner to get safely to second base. The next man laid the ball down about six feet in front of the plate and both Madden and George Connors, the catcher, made for it. Connors got it and hurled it down the base line. It was a hurried throw and, instead of landing in Ness’s hands, the ball took the runner squarely between the shoulders, sent him staggering over the bag and then bounded off into the crowd at the foot of the grand stand. The Providence coach hustled the astonished and breathless runner to his feet and sent[64] him sprinting to second, while the man on that bag raced home.

Confusion ensued at once. Mr. Chase sent the first runner back to third, as the ball had been interfered with, but allowed the batsman to hold second. Captain Madden objected strongly, claiming that the batsman should be allowed but one base. The Providence captain rushed up and added his voice to the controversy and players of both teams crowded around. Whereupon the purple-stockinged youth on third base nonchalantly walked home and the runner on second ambled to third and would have followed his team-mate’s example had not Jerry Lippit shrieked a warning to Madden, who held the ball.

“You’re on third!” cried Madden, pointing accusingly at the runner who, having crossed the plate, had now joined the group. “Mr. Umpire, send him back to third, sir!”

“I can’t do that, Madden,” replied Mr. Chase quietly. “Time has not been called.”

Murmurs of resentment arose from the Audelsville players, while the visitors grinned or openly chuckled. Madden flushed angrily.

“Not at all. You rushed up and protested my decision. You had no right to do that, Madden. If you had wanted time called you should have said so. The runner is safe at the plate. That man is safe on third. Play ball!”

Audelsville howled its disapproval from the stands, but Mr. Chase was not to be shaken from his position, and after a few minutes of further argument and protest the game continued. But now Captain Madden was “up in the air” with a vengeance. The next man took his base on balls and stole second immediately, Connors being afraid to throw down to head him off. The subsequent batsman took kindly to Madden’s third delivery and hit safely between shortstop and third, and two more runs came across.

Dissatisfaction reigned on the bleachers. “Why doesn’t he start Billy warming up?” demanded Spider Wells. “He’s losing the game for us.”

“He’s mad,” chuckled Teddy Thurston. “He isn’t thinking a thing about Billy or anyone else just now. Watch this big chap smash a homer!”

The big chap didn’t accomplish that feat, but he had no trouble with one of Chester Madden’s slow balls and sent it whizzing into short left, a clean hit. With men on first and second and none out, things looked bad for the home team. Connors walked down and talked with Madden, and the latter nodded. Billy[66] Younger arose from the players’ bench and began to warm up to Poor. The spectators murmured their relief.

Madden made four attempts to catch the man off at second and then turned his attention to the impatient batsman. The man happened to be the opposing pitcher and a poor hand with the stick. But in spite of that Madden seemed unable to put the ball over the plate to Mr. Chase’s satisfaction and the Providence pitcher ambled to first, advancing the other runners and filling the bases. Cries of “Take him out!” “Put in Younger!” arose, demands which increased the captain’s unsteadiness. Certainly Billy Younger had not had time to get the kinks out of his arm, yet even so it would doubtless have been well to substitute him for Madden just then. For the next batsman, one of the Purple’s heaviest hitters, rapped a sharp one down the third base line that was just out of Tucker’s reach and two more runs came in. Connors took affairs in his own hands then, and talked earnestly to Madden, with the result that the captain, shrugging his shoulders, dropped the ball in the box and went over to third base, displacing Tucker, and Billy Younger, pulling off his faded blue sweater, ran on to the field. The stands applauded loudly and Billy, rescuing the ball, pulled his cap down and faced the situation.

Billy was a rather stocky boy of sixteen, with a cheerful countenance and a pair of steady gray eyes. He was a junior in high school and had played on the team for two years. Enthusiastic admirers of Billy declared that he had “everything there was,” meaning by that that he was master of all the deliveries known to the science of pitching. This was more enthusiastic than truthful, but still it was a fact that Billy was a good deal of a pitcher for a boy of his age, and could cause the ball to “break” in a number of puzzling ways. First of all, though, it was Billy’s craft and coolness that made him great. Billy studied the batsman and seemed to divine his thoughts. And after that he set himself craftily to circumventing him. Billy’s delivery was slow, but his curves broke well, and it was a recognized fact among his admirers that the more deliberate Billy became the more likely he was to add further strike-outs to his credit.

Billy was extremely deliberate now. He viewed the batsman as though that youth’s features were strangely familiar to him and he was wondering whether they had ever met and whether it would not be well for him to walk up and shake hands. The batsman pawed the earth and waved his bat impatiently. The Providence coachers jeered and the bleacherites laughed appreciatively. Then, apparently deciding that he did not know the batsman after all, Billy Younger lifted his arms languidly above his head, spun half around and sent the ball slowly and exactly over the center of the plate. The batsman watched it go by and then turned inquiringly to the umpire.

The batsman tapped the plate and smiled contemptuously. Billy wound up again, stepped easily forward and sped the ball. It looked good until it was almost within reach of the impatient bat. Then it drifted lazily out of the straight and narrow path and the bat swung harmlessly over it. And George Connors, dropping to one knee, picked the ball almost out of the dirt! After that Billy wasted two, a high one outside and a low one that nicked the corner of the plate. By that time the coachers and the players on the visitors’ bench were howling encouragement to the batter and aspersions on the pitcher’s offerings.

“He hasn’t got a thing, Gus! Pick out a good one![69] Make him pitch to you! He’s dead easy, Gus, old boy! This is the one!”

It was. It was a nice slow drop that never pretended at any moment during its flight to be anything but a drop. And the batsman knew it was a drop and was ready for it. And after he had swung he took two full steps in the direction of first base before it dawned on him that there are drops and drops, and that that particular drop had held a drop too much! He retired to the bench scowling while Audelsville in the grand stand clapped with well-behaved enthusiasm, and Audelsville on the bleachers stamped and howled in abandoned glee.

The next batsman managed to connect with Billy’s second offering and popped a high fly to leftfielder, going out without advancing the runners. The Providence captain was the next victim to Billy’s slants and turned away in disgust after watching just four deliveries float by him. Audelsville heaved a vast sigh of relief and applauded as Billy Younger trotted back to the bench.

“That’s all well enough,” grunted Willard, “but they’ve got six mighty big tallies on that scorebook. We’ve got to do some hitting to get this game, fellows!”

The rest agreed, all except Spider and Teddy, who were arguing heatedly over the question of how to score that second run. Spider declared that the runner should be credited with a steal, while Teddy insisted that it was somebody’s error, he didn’t know whose!

“If it was anybody’s error,” said Jerry, “it was Chester’s. The big boob ought to have asked for time.”

“The man stole on catcher,” suggested Tom. “Wasn’t it catcher’s error?”

“No, because pitcher held the ball,” contradicted Willard. “It’s plainly Chester’s error.”

“It was everybody’s error, I guess,” murmured Teddy, scowling at his scorebook. “Guess I’ll present everyone with one-ninth of an error!”

Meanwhile high school was falling before the clever curves of the opposing pitcher, and, although the home team managed to get a runner as far as second, there was no scoring in the last of the fourth. Nor was there any scoring in either half of the fifth or sixth. The game settled down to a pitchers’ battle, with the honors pretty evenly divided between Billy and the purple-stockinged youth. Then, in the last of the seventh, things began to look up for Audelsville. Berger, rightfielder and a mediocre batsman, was hit on the arm and went down to first rubbing[71] his elbow and grinning. The incident unsteadied the Providence pitcher for a moment, and Connors, who usually fanned out expeditiously, somehow managed to get his bat in the way of the ball and sent a slow bunt toward third. A mix-up ensued between third baseman and pitcher, and Connors was safe on first and Berger was hopping gleefully around at second. Billy Younger was an erratic performer with the stick and his retirement was already discounted when he faced the pitcher. But luck was with Billy to-day and he swung against the first delivery and cracked it out over second baseman’s head for a long roller that sent Berger across the plate and left Connors on second. The bleachers howled approval and the High School coachers danced and cavorted and uttered weird noises at first and second. Lyman, head of the batting list, might be expected to bring in another run, and he received evidences of distinguished consideration as he stepped to the plate and faced the pitcher determinedly. But for once the clever little shortstop proved a distinct disappointment, for the best he could do, after watching two strikes go past him and then fouling off two deliveries, was to send a weak grounder to third baseman, who hurled to second in time to catch Billy. Second completed the double. Meanwhile Connors had reached third, however, and there was still a chance of another run. Ness, first baseman,[72] long and lank and a mighty swatter, came up and was passed to first. Cook, centerfielder, while not as dependable as Ness, was a fair batter, and this time he did his duty, banging a hot liner at shortstop which that youth stopped but could not field in time to prevent another score. With men on first and second Chester Madden fell a victim to the pitcher’s wiles and sent an arching fly into centerfielder’s hands, and the inning was over.

In their half of the eighth the Providence players squeezed in another tally, although Billy added one more strike-out to his growing score. High School started badly, Jordan and Jones each being thrown out at first. Berger, however, managed to do some heady waiting and got his base on balls. Connor connected with a low ball and popped it up into short centerfield. Shortstop went back for it and centerfielder raced in for it. Even second baseman showed a disposition to take a hand in the catching of that fly. The result was that it fell to the turf while the three players stood and glared at each other. It was Billy’s turn at bat again, and it was a foregone conclusion that, having had one streak of luck, Billy couldn’t expect another and would prove an easy out. But the pitcher, worried by the misadventure that had left two on bases instead of retiring the side, went suddenly wild. Billy used his head and waited. One[73] ball, two balls, a strike, three balls—Billy waved his bat and danced at the plate. Another strike!

And he didn’t. What was meant for a strike slanted erratically past Billy’s chin and Billy trotted to first, and the bases were full!

“Oh, for a home run!” sighed Tom, squirming excitedly about on the hot seat. “Who’s up, Will?”

“Gives him a better show now,” said Teddy hopefully. “Even a little old hit would bring in two runs.”

Lyman was cautious. The pitcher, who had seemingly recovered from his momentary unsteadiness, worked a slow drop and scored a strike. He followed that with a fast high ball that Lyman refused, and Mr. Chase confirmed his decision. Another delivery went as a ball by a narrow margin. Then one shot by right in the groove and although Lyman swung desperately he missed it. The next one went hurtling off with a loud crack, but proved to be a foul outside of third base line. But the following delivery found Lyman ready, and Lyman’s bat, too, and away screeched the ball between second and third and Lyman[74] sped for the base. The Providence shortstop made a frenzied leap into the air and possibly just touched the ball with his finger tips. But it was not for him. Center and leftfielder ran in for it, and centerfielder got it on a lucky bound. By that time Berger had scored, Connors was rounding third, Billy was half-way between that bag and second, and Lyman was still on the go. One fatal moment of indecision on the part of centerfielder worked for high school. Seeing that he could not stop Connors, the fielder sped the ball to second to get Lyman. At third Chester Madden was on the coacher’s line. Just as the ball reached second baseman, too late to put out Lyman, Billy Younger raced to third. Chester, studying the situation rapidly, took a desperate chance and waved Billy on toward the plate! There were two out, anyway, and it was a time for risking something!

Billy was fleet of foot and he had hardly broken his stride at the third corner, and now he was putting out for the plate for all he was worth, while the Providence catcher, astride the rubber, shouted imploringly for the ball. Across the diamond the second baseman, recovering after an unsuccessful sweep at Lyman, who had slid safely to the bag, saw what was happening and, in a panic, heaved the ball home. It was a hurried throw and it came in far to the right of[75] the plate, striking the dust ten feet away and bounding into the catcher’s hands by the merest good luck instead of going on to the backstop. But the good luck wasn’t good enough, for, although the catcher threw himself heroically toward the plate, Billy was there before him by a hair’s breadth, and as the two rolled over together in the dust the umpire spread his hands wide, palms downward. When the catcher had struggled to his feet again, Lyman was seated on third base, panting but content, and the score stood five to seven.

Lyman deserved a run for his trouble, but he didn’t score it, for Ness was out, shortstop to first baseman, and the eighth inning had passed into history. The stands settled themselves again after several minutes of wild excitement and the teams changed places. It was getting toward five o’clock and the air was cooling perceptibly. Billy Younger went back to the mound, but his wild streak around the bases had told on him and he was decidedly wobbly. He passed the first batsman, struck out the second and allowed the third a clean base hit. Then the fourth man popped a foul to first baseman and Billy settled down. A scratch hit past second left men on first, second and third bases, and for a moment it looked as if the visitors might add to their score. But the best the next purple-stockinged youth could do was to smash[76] a ball straight at Captain Madden, who didn’t have to move an inch to get it, and the side was out.

It was high school’s last chance now and the bleachers arose as one man and implored victory. Cook was the first man up. Cook swung his bat grimly as he faced the enemy and then proceeded to raise and lower the hopes of his team-mates and friends by knocking fouls all over the place, going after everything that was offered him. In the end he struck out ingloriously, and Chester Madden took his place.

Chester looked grimly determined as he hitched his belt, rubbed one hand in the dust and settled into position. But the very first ball pitched proved his undoing, for, although it came straight along the groove, it was a fast one and Chester swung a fraction too low. Up went the ball, poised an instant against the blue of the afternoon sky and then started to earth directly over the pitcher’s box. Pitcher, catcher and first baseman all went for it and all claimed it, but the captain called for the catcher to take it, and when it came down with a final rush it settled into that player’s big mitt. That thud of leather against leather sounded tragic indeed to the home team and its supporters. In the grand stand the seats began to empty, although many lingered along the edge of the field to see the final put-out.

This doubtful honor fell, apparently, to Jordan,[77] who, although he had played a rattling game at second, had not greatly distinguished himself at the bat. When all is said and done, the one thing that makes baseball the interesting game it is, is its quality of unexpectedness. Here was the game all over but the shouting, the score 7 to 5 in Providence Prep’s favor, and two men out in the last inning. They were sliding the bats into the canvas bag in front of the visitors’ bench. The occupants of the bleachers were donning their jackets and swarming out on to the turf. And then, suddenly, like a bolt from the blue, came a sharp crack of the bat and Jordan was racing to first! And the dirty, white sphere was a gray streak against the green turf, the second baseman was rolling over and over after an unsuccessful attempt to stop the ball, and the rightfielder was scurrying in for it! And Jordan was rounding first now and flying like a rabbit for second! Fielder got the ball and threw, but the throw was hurried and shortstop had to step a couple of paces off base to catch it, and before he could tag the runner the latter was safe. How Audelsville shouted and howled! How Chester Madden and the rest of the team danced about! Chester sped Jones to the plate, but the Providence pitcher refused to be hurried. He took plenty of time to let his team-mates settle down again, and then he faced the batsman. Now Jones, like Jordan, had failed to[78] produce hits so far, and the wise ones criticized Chester for not putting in a pinch hitter. But Chester was banking on Fortune just then, and Fortune didn’t fail him. Jones never had a chance to try at the ball. The Providence pitcher was as wild as a hawk. The first two deliveries went past Jones’ nose, the third bit the dust in front of the plate and narrowly escaped being a passed ball, and the fourth went wide of the plate. And Jones trotted to first, and the uproar, which had continued unceasingly since Jordan’s hit, took on new volume.

But it wouldn’t do to put all the work on Fortune, and Chester realized it. The next man on the list, Berger, was the weakest sort of a batsman. It wouldn’t do to trust to Berger to bring in the two runs needed to tie the game. So he waved that youth aside and looked about him. Here were Poor and Tucker, but they weren’t likely to perform much better than Berger.

No one seemed to know, and so everyone began to yell at once for “Jerry! Jerry Lippit!” An answer came from back of third and Jerry raced across the diamond. Chester seized him by the arm, whispered instructions, and pushed him toward the plate. The uproar died away. The crowd watched almost breathlessly.[79] At second, Jordan pawed the earth and shouted. At first, Jones danced about and uttered taunts, keeping, nevertheless, a sharp watch on the boxman, who had a way of turning with disconcerting quickness and throwing to first. But when first baseman left the bag Jones took a twelve foot lead and redoubled his antics. Behind him was Chester, coaching. Over by third stood Lyman. The voices of the two crossed the diamond like pistol volleys, crashing by the ears of the opposing pitcher, who, in spite of his efforts to keep cool, was plainly worried. The first ball proved it, for it struck the plate; and the enemy howled with mingled glee and derision. Catcher walked down the alley a few steps before he tossed the ball back. Pitcher nodded, hitched at his belt, rubbed a hand in the earth, and poised himself again. The catcher gave his signal, the ball sped to the plate, catcher caught it and almost with one movement sent it streaking to second. Jordan was a good fifteen feet away at the instant. He made one step toward second, saw the futility of it, and then, turning, dug out for third. A groan went up from the watchers. Shortstop, who had taken the throw-down, started along the path after the runner, then, pausing, snapped the ball to third baseman. Jordan, headed off, doubled back. Third closed in a few steps and then threw to second baseman, who was now covering the sack.[80] Again Jordan turned, but they were closing in on him fast and it seemed that the end had come. But Fortune once more took a hand. Second baseman tossed the ball to pitcher, who had run over to back up third baseman. The throw was an easy one, over Jordan’s head, but it went high, and, although the pitcher got it in one hand, it was at that moment that Jordan, grown desperate, rushed for the third bag. Pitcher was on the base line and Jordan struck him full in the breast with his shoulder. Down swept the hand with the ball, as the pitcher staggered aside, and thumped against Jordan’s back. Tom, watching from twenty feet away, groaned. Then, in the next instant, he was dancing like a dervish and whacking Willard on the back! For the ball was rolling in the dust and Jordan was clutching third base frantically! Pitcher had dropped the ball! And on second base sat Jones!

Well, anyone could guess what would likely happen after that. With two balls already wasted, the pitcher tried to do what was wise; that is, pass the pinch hitter and wait for the next batsman. And so, while Audelsville howled and cheered and hooted, he tossed another wide ball. Then Jerry saw what he was up to, saw his chance to make a hero of himself being snatched from his grasp, and was enraged.

“Oh, put one over!” he taunted. “You don’t dare to give me a chance at one!” He leaped to the end[81] of the batter’s box and waved his bat exasperatingly at the troubled pitcher. “You’re afraid, you Providence Prune!”

Now whether the pitcher meant to sneak a strike over or whether he meant the next delivery to be a ball will never be known, but Jerry will tell you that no one could ask for a better offering than came to him. It sped in fairly high, broke slowly and came straight over the plate. To have refused it would have been a positive crime, Jerry declared afterwards. So he didn’t refuse it. He swung sharply, met it fairly and squarely and sent it whizzing high and far into rightfield.

All eyes followed it and hearts began to sink. Out there rightfielder, turning, was running back slowly. He could catch it, certainly, and the game would be over. Then, suddenly, the fielder scurried back further, watching the descending ball over his shoulder. And then, just how it happened wasn’t apparent, up went his right hand high in the air, he toppled over backward, and the ball rolled away from him across the grass! The tying runs had crossed the plate and Jerry was faltering at second. Now he took up the running again. He was at third before the fielder had recovered the ball and sped it to second baseman. Lyman waved him toward home. Half-way there the ball left second baseman’s hands and Jerry, with a[82] final frantic charge, slid over ten feet of dust and hooked one foot into the plate, avoiding the catcher’s wild lunge of the ball and scoring the eighth and winning tally!

The high school scorer credited Jerry with a home run, on the presumption that the ball had been an impossible one to handle. The Providence scorer gave him a two-base hit and put an error down to rightfielder. I fancy the latter story came nearer the truth of the matter. Not that it mattered much, however, for Audelsville tramped home in joyous triumph, Jerry became a hero, and Providence Preparatory Academy retired with trailing banners and muttered vows of revenge. So absorbed in the glorious ninth inning victory were Tom and Willard and Spider that they reached town before it dawned on them that Teddy Thurston had mysteriously disappeared and that they hadn’t got their sodas!

“Never mind,” said Willard darkly, “we’ll make him pay up yet. That kid will come to a bad end, you mark my words, fellows!”

Later, when Tom and Willard paused at a corner to say good night, Willard volunteered:

On the following Tuesday morning the expressman backed up to the Bentons’ and lowered two heavy wooden cases to the sidewalk, subsequently trundling them up the short drive to the stable, and that evening Jimmy Brennan began to reassemble the engine. Tom was on hand, watching, helping where he might, and asking a hundred questions. Jimmy, whom the boys had grown to like tremendously, was patience itself. In fact, he seemed to like to share his knowledge with Tom. Scarcely a part was assembled without Tom learning the why and wherefore of it. Jimmy wasted good time often enough while he explained and illustrated.

Jimmy had gained his knowledge of engines in a machine shop in Providence, and of automobiles in an automobile factory in Springfield, where he had worked two years. How he had managed to land in Audelsville is best told in Jimmy’s own language. “You see,” he confided to Tom one evening while[84] he worked on the car, “after I’d been at the bench about a year and a half I thought I’d sort of like to run one of the things. So I got ’em to shift me and I used to try the cars out after they were built. Then one day they wanted a demonstrator—one of the chaps was sick or something—and they took me. When the other chap came back again they said I could keep on if I wanted to, and I did. Then, maybe it was two or three months after that, I was showing a big ‘sixty’ to a man. I had him out two or three times and, finally, he decided to buy the car. Then he asked me would I come to Audelsville, where he lived, and be his chauffeur. I mulled it over and finally I said I would. He offered good big wages.”

“I did and I didn’t. I liked driving the car, but they wanted me to wear a uniform. I’d have done that, too, I guess, but Mrs. Martin and me, we—well, we didn’t hit it off very well. She said my hands were always dirty—which they were, I guess, seeing as I was always tinkering with the engine or something—and she didn’t like the color of my hair. She said red hair wasn’t genteel for a chauffeur. I said I wasn’t goin’ to change the color of my hair for nobody,[85] and so I quit. James U. offered me a job in the mill, but I didn’t take it. Went to work for Gerrish and Hanford instead. Some day, likely, I’ll pull up and go back to the automobile factory. So that’s how I came to be living in this old burg.”

“Oh, it’s good enough, I guess. Now, then, where’s that box of cotter pins?”

Class Day at the high school came on the twentieth that year, and for a week before it Willard, who was graduating, wasn’t able to give much time to the car. Tom managed to get one coat of varnish on unaided and did several small tasks about the tonneau. The leather cushions needed attention, for one thing, and after Tom had gone over them with tacks and replaced two or three missing buttons he dressed them with an evil-smelling concoction that Jimmy mixed for him. After that they really looked almost like new. A piece of carpet, discovered in the attic, was fitted on the tonneau floor and a rubber mat was secured from an automobile supply house in Providence for the front of the car. Meanwhile Jimmy had nearly finished his work, and Tom’s knowledge of gas engines had wonderfully increased. The wiring was put in new from batteries to cylinders, and Jimmy dissected the magneto and found it satisfactory.

Tom attended the graduation exercises and heard Willard deliver an allegedly humorous speech in his office of Class Prophet. Also he went to the graduation ball and forgot The Ark long enough to dance with Willard’s sister Grace and Teddy’s sister Bess—unlike baseball games, dances, it seemed, did not cause Miss Thurston headaches!—and several other fellows’ sisters or cousins, and to eat an unbelievable quantity of salad and ices. Willard went on a visit to Wickford for three days after graduating, and finally turned up one Monday forenoon ready to go to work again on the automobile. He had not been near it for a week, and when he saw it he stared hard. Body and chassis had been joined again, and it was a very brave looking car that confronted him in the middle of the carriage room floor. Jimmy had taken a hand at painting the running gear, and, now, all that remained was a second coat of varnish on the body and two coats below.

“Say, Tom, that’s some car!” ejaculated Willard. “Why—why, she’s a peach, isn’t she?”

Tom agreed that she was. “And you ought to hear her run,” he said proudly. “Why, out on the sidewalk you’d hardly know she was here. Jimmy says she isn’t terribly quiet, but I don’t think she makes any more noise than that big car of Mr. Martin’s! Want me to start her for you so’s you can hear her?”

“Of course,” replied Tom, with a fine air of nonchalance. “It’s easy enough.”

So he turned the switch on to the battery, pulled down the throttle lever and tugged at the crank. There was a noise, but it wasn’t the sound of the engine running.

“Cold!” said Willard. “Gee, that’s more than I am and more than you look!”

Tom scowled at the car. “Something must be wrong,” he muttered, fiddling with the spark and throttle and then swinging the switch on and off knowingly. “I’ll try her again.”

He did, while Willard backed further away, and for some unknown reason the engine sputtered once or twice and then settled down into a steady, rhythmic song. Tom, wiping the perspiration from his forehead, smiled triumphantly across at his chum. Willard gathered courage and drew near.

“Because the clutch isn’t in,” explained Tom. “The engine is running idle; there’s no load on it; see? If I pushed down on this thing and drew this lever toward me it would start and go right through the back of the stable, I guess!”

Willard begged him nervously to take his hand away from the lever in question. “I don’t think,” he said—they were almost shouting to make each other hear—“that it makes much noise, Tom!”

“Of course it doesn’t!” bawled Tom emphatically. “You see, Jimmy’s so used to—to high-priced cars that he doesn’t appreciate this one.”

“Just varnish her and put a new tube in that shoe over there. Jimmy says the rest of the tires will last for months, maybe. He says, though, we’d ought to have an extra tire on hand. There’s a place at the back where you can strap it on. Then we’d be prepared in case we had a blow-out. I’ve made a list of things we ought to have, Will. There—there are a good many of them.”

“I suppose so,” Willard agreed. “And we mustn’t forget that we’ve got to make another payment to Saunders in a few days. I sort of thought we’d have the car going and be earning some money before we had to pay him any more.”

“We would have if they hadn’t held us up at the[89] factory for those new parts. Anyway, we’ll have her on the street in two or three days now; that is, if we can get the varnish on.”

So they set bravely to work with varnish pots and brushes and, by keeping at it until dinner time and then putting in another three hours in the afternoon, they completed the body and got the first coat on the chassis. Three days later the car was ready and Tom took his first lesson in running it. Jimmy took the wheel until they had reached a nice stretch of open road some two miles from town in the direction of Graywich and then he mounted the running board on the driving side and put Tom through his paces. Willard went along, seated in the tonneau, and showed signs of nervousness when Tom moved over to the driver’s seat and took the wheel.

Jimmy showed Tom how to throw out the clutch with his left foot and pull the lever back to first speed and they went trundling slowly and cautiously down the road, Tom holding the wheel desperately and staring fixedly ahead. Presently—after Tom had wobbled the car from one side of the road to the other for several hundred feet—Jimmy said:

Tom took his eyes off the road ahead long enough to glance at the pole in question and the car headed[90] promptly toward the stone wall, and Willard set up a howl. The Ark was brought back into the path, and Tom, frowning terrifically, released his clutch, threw forward the lever and jammed down on his foot brake. The car came to a sudden stop some fifteen feet short of the post.

“Don’t be so sharp with your brake,” advised Jimmy. “All right. Now start her forward again and stop right at the post.”

Tom looked vacantly at the levers, forgot to release his clutch and made a horrible noise by trying to throw the lever into the reverse. At last, however, the car began going backward, Willard leaning fearsomely out and shouting constant warnings, and Tom toiling mightily at the wheel. Then Jimmy ordered him to stop and start ahead again. A hundred yards further on Jimmy said suddenly,

“Don’t put your foot brake on hard,” advised Jimmy, “without releasing your clutch. You wear it[91] out if you do. Now when I say stop her quick I mean quick. See? What’s the quickest way to stop her?”

Tom’s wandering, puzzled gaze fell on the emergency brake. He seized it. “This!” he exclaimed triumphantly.

Jimmy nodded approvingly. “Right-o! Remember that quick means that, then. Let her go again.” After they were started: “Now put her into second,” said Jimmy. “Forward, across and forward again.”

Tom made poor work of that shifting and he had to do it many times until he could accomplish it with what was very nearly one motion. But the most of that lesson was devoted to stopping and starting, and by the time the car was headed back toward Audelsville Tom was pretty well worn out, but twice as enthusiastic as he had been before. Jimmy allowed him to keep the wheel, the car running slowly on high speed, almost into town, Jimmy himself managing the steering whenever they met a vehicle, which was infrequently. Tom discovered that after a while steering was something that almost did itself, that as he grew accustomed to it he was able to keep the car in the road without any especial effort.

Tom was so eager to finish his education that there was a second lesson that evening after supper, and two more the next day. The only mishap was when, the following morning, in trying to turn the car in[92] the road, Tom almost slammed the fenders into a fence. Now and then Willard, who always went along, took the wheel for a few minutes and received instructions, but Willard showed little talent for the work and was distinctly nervous, and in the end it was decided that Tom should attend to the running of the car. Willard, however, expressed an intention of ultimately learning how. “You see,” he explained, “you might get sick or something and somebody would have to run it.”

Occasionally they stopped while Jimmy lifted the hood and tinkered with the engine; and once he made Tom put in a new set of spark plugs by the roadside, a performance that occupied a full half-hour, and left Tom very hot and dirty. Another day, some two miles from town, Jimmy pretended that they had had a blow-out—which, luckily, they hadn’t!—and made Tom unship the new tire from the rear of the car and put it on a front wheel. That necessitated lifting the forward axle with the jack, prying off an obstinate rim, and so, finally, removing the old tire. Then a new tube was partly inflated with the pump—warm work that!—sprinkled with talc powder and inserted in the new shoe, and the whole set on the wheel, the clincher rim being hammered on afterwards. Subsequently the pump was again brought into play and Tom’s arms ached long before the tube was sufficiently[93] inflated. Two days later Jimmy decided that there was no use wearing out the new tube and shoe as long as the old one was serviceable, and made Tom transfer them again! This time, however, they were in the stable—no, garage!—and it wasn’t quite so hard.

Another time—Jimmy had become so used to spending his evenings in the Benton’s stable that he found it hard work to keep away—Jimmy did something mysterious to the engine and then told Tom to start it. But, although Tom turned and turned, and although Willard took his place when he gave out, the engine refused to even cough, and Tom was instructed to find the trouble. That was a problem! Jimmy lounged around with his hands in his pockets and offered no comment, and even refused advice when asked for it. It took Tom just forty minutes to discover that Jimmy had detached the wires from the cylinders, although they were dangling there uselessly in plain sight! Another time, unseen of the boys, he shut the cock in the gasoline supply pipe at the carburetor and again poor Tom nearly worried himself into a spasm. It was all useful experience, however, and the boys enjoyed it after it was over. By this time even Willard, whose talents scarcely leaned toward mechanics, had got a very fair idea of the philosophy of automobiles.

You may be certain that Tom’s mother meanwhile viewed the progress of events with deep misgiving. Every day, as she said, she expected to hear that Tom had either killed himself outright or been maimed for life. Mrs. Benton was deeply suspicious of automobiles and nothing could induce her for a very long time to approach The Ark nearer than ten feet. At that distance she seemed to think that it could not reach out, seize her and trample her underfoot! Even Tom’s father, who was deeply interested in the car and the project, and who was frequently on hand in the evenings, had his doubts. In those days there were by actual count only nine automobiles in Audelsville, three of them being light trucks belonging to the express company, and the others large and expensive cars belonging to wealthy residents of The Hill. Consequently Mr. Benton viewed the contrivances with more or less doubt and suspicion. One evening, however, Tom and Willard combined their eloquence and persuaded Mr. and Mrs. Benton to take a ride. Of course Jimmy did the driving and, at the boys’ request, went at a snail’s pace until they were well out of town. Mrs. Benton sat stiff and fearful at first, but gradually her expression of nervous apprehension wore off and she relaxed against the cushions—the car was one with a high back to the tonneau after the obsolete but comfortable style of those of[95] some half-dozen years ago—and really began to enjoy the smooth ride through the summer twilight. Mr. Benton’s uneasiness survived even a shorter time, and when Tom took Jimmy’s place at the wheel he only said:

Tom soon convinced him that, if he was not as skillful a chauffeur as Jimmy Brennan, he was quite capable of handling the car, and Mr. Benton was highly pleased. They went all the way to Graywich, or, at least, to within sight of the town, and then sped back again with the searchlights flooding the darkening road with a broad radiance.

Mrs. Benton smiled. “Very much, Tom,” she answered. “It made me feel so much easier to know that if anything happened we’d all get killed together!”

Another evening Willard’s parents and sister had their first ride in the car. This time things did not run so smoothly, for a rear tire which had been on the verge of collapse ever since they had bought the car decided to give up. That necessitated a change by the side of the road, under the light of one of the kerosene lamps, and the interesting discovery was made that the jack had been left in the stable. Tom[96] explained shamefacedly that he had jacked up one of the wheels that morning to study the working of the brake and had left the jack on the floor.

Tom couldn’t tell him, nor could Willard. Mr. Morris was on the point of offering a solution of the problem when Jimmy winked at him and he subsided.

“We might all get hold and lift the wheel,” said Tom, “and then one of us could slip something under the axle. How would that do?”

“That’s all right this time,” replied Jimmy, “but supposing you were out alone in the car? What would you do then?”

Tom studied again. At length: “I—I guess I’d walk home,” he acknowledged. Then: “No, I wouldn’t either! I’d find a big rock or something and a long pole—a fence rail would do—and make a lever!”

“Right-o!” commended Jimmy. “Then what’s the matter with doing that now?”

It was done, after some hunting up and down the road in the darkness for the necessary articles, and Tom made the change, Willard helping him, in something short of twenty minutes, which was doing very well. Jimmy decided that the old tube was well worth having vulcanized and that even the shoe, as worn[97] and battered as it was, could be repaired to serve in an emergency.

So Tom learned by toil and experience, and finally Jimmy declared that there was no reason why he shouldn’t take the car out alone. “Just remember this, Tom, and you won’t be likely to get in much trouble. When you don’t know what to do, stop! And stop quick! Then you can think it out and take all the time you want. The trouble with lots of folks is that they never learned to stop; they just learned to go; and when there’s trouble they keep on going!”

The next morning Tom was up with the sun, or very nearly, and, after dressing, stole noiselessly down the stairs, let himself out the back door and unlocked the garage. Five minutes later he was steering the car down Washington Street, his heart thumping a little harder than usual. There weren’t many abroad at that hour. Washington Street, save for the sparrows and a few cats and an occasional milkman making his rounds, was quite deserted. Tom was glad of that, for being alone in the car and not having Jimmy to depend on in a crisis was different! But all went well and at the end of his own street he turned into Linden Street and so to the Graywich road. There he let the car out and settled back in his seat. It was wonderfully exhilarating, riding through the fresh, moist morning air, and Tom’s heart kept time with[98] the hum of the busy engine, his doubt and nervousness fast disappearing. It wasn’t as smooth going as when the car had been full, for the springs were strongly built, and when the car found a bump—and there were plenty of them—Tom jounced around a good deal like a tennis ball on a racquet! He passed several cars and vehicles and had got some three miles from Audelsville when the engine began missing and sputtering. Tom frowned, slowed down and considered. Then, wisely, he turned and headed toward home. The car sputtered worse than ever, and when it came to a slight hill almost refused to take it. He tried running on the low speed and thought that helped, but just over the top of the hill the engine gave one final gasp and stopped!

Tom threw out his clutch lever, set his brake, and descended. There was still a good hour before breakfast time, but he was fully two miles and a half from home, and whatever was to be done had better be done quickly. The trouble, however, was to find out what. He raised one side of the hood and ran his eye over the engine. Everything seemed all right there. The wires were all connected. He looked over the carburetor side with similar results. The cock on the gasoline inlet pipe was open, and everything else seemed satisfactory. So he tried to start the engine again; tried first on the battery, and then on the magneto,[99] spinning the wheel valiantly, but with no results. The engine seemed as dead as a door-nail! After that he went over everything again. And, after that, he sat down on the running-board to wipe the perspiration from his face and get his breath back, meanwhile trying to remember what he had done in former similar quandaries. Finally, what should have occurred to him long before came to him, and he dragged off the front seat cushion and, unscrewing the cap of the gasoline tank, peered in. It was as dry as a bone!

Luckily Jimmy had provided for just such a contingency by placing an old one-gallon varnish can filled with gasoline under the rear seat, and soon Tom was on his way again, and in another quarter of an hour ran The Ark triumphantly into the garage, having learned one more thing that would doubtless stand him in good stead.

Finally, three days later, to be exact, on the twelfth day of July, the great moment arrived. The Benton & Morris Transportation Company began business!

The company started with a cash balance of four dollars on hand. Jimmy had been paid, although he had expressed his entire willingness to wait a couple of weeks for half of his money. Mr. Saunders had received his first installment, a new shoe and two new inner tubes had been bought and they had also purchased already fifteen gallons of gasoline, much of which had been used in trying the engine out in the garage. A license for the car had cost ten dollars and an operator’s license two more. They had also been obliged to buy a number of unthought of things, such as the rubber mat and brass polish and kerosene for the lamps and a new set of spark plugs. Paint, varnish, brushes, cylinder oil, cup grease and graphite had been anticipated but footed up higher than expected. Willard had put seventy-five dollars more into the business, which, with the fifty dollars loaned by Mr. Benton, represented a capitalization of one hundred and seventy-five dollars.[101] Willard’s loan and Mr. Benton’s were to be paid back from the net profits of the enterprise.

At eleven o’clock that Tuesday morning The Ark, her brand-new number-plates in place, was run out of the garage and, with Tom at the wheel and Willard beside him, it chugged quietly—well, not quietly, perhaps, but, let us say, industriously,—through Washington Street in the direction of the station. Audelsville had six important trains a day, three from the east and three from the west. The first of these, the 9:01 from the west, usually brought few travelers, and the boys had decided to inaugurate their service with the 11:34, which was the Providence express and the favorite train for commercial travelers and business men. Later, at 1:57, there was a second train from the east, and after that one from the west at 2:06. Then there were no more until the Providence train went east at 6:05. At 8:40 the last of the half-dozen expresses passed westward.

As The Ark neared Walnut Street there came a hail and Jerry Lippit, vaulting the front fence as the quickest means of getting into the street, ran up. “How does she go, fellows?” he asked eagerly. “Give me a ride, Tom, will you?”

Tom stopped the car. “Jump in,” he said. Willard, however, could not resist a fling.

“What?” asked Jerry, as he scrambled into the rear and threw himself luxuriously on the seat.

“Why, that you’d be begging for a ride in a week or two,” responded Willard.

“To the station,” answered Tom, starting the car again. They had not confided their plan to anyone as yet, and it was generally supposed that The Ark was purely a pleasure craft. They were not destined to go very far, however, without another stop, for a little further along Teddy Thurston, returning from a store with six preserving jars in a wooden box, planted himself in the middle of the street.

“Let me in, Tom! Gee, but don’t it look swell? Here, Jerry, take these things till I get in.”

“I’ll take you to the station,” said Tom, “but you may have to walk home.”

“No, but—there may be others to come back.” Tom looked questioningly at Willard.

“You fellows might as well know, I guess,” said Willard as Tom started on. “We’re going into the livery business.”

“Why, we’re going to take folks from the train to the hotel, or wherever they want to go,” Willard explained. “This is the Benton and Morris Transportation Company, Limited; limited to one automobile,” added Willard with a smile.

“Gee, but that’s a scheme!” exclaimed Jerry. “Say, you fellows might make a lot of money that way!”

“So we thought,” responded Willard dryly. “That’s why we’re doing it, although I suppose you chumps thought we’d bought this thing just so that we could take you to ride.”

“You mean that I’ve got to lug this blamed box all the way back from the station?” demanded Teddy.

Teddy stared doubtfully and dubiously back toward home. Jerry grinned heartlessly. “Serves you right for butting in,” he said.

“Well, I can ride home on the trolley,” sighed Teddy. Then, “Look here, how much do you charge to bring folks back?”

Teddy put his feet on the preserving jars and settled himself comfortably in a corner of the comfortable[104] leather seat. “All right,” he said magnificently, “I’ve got a quarter. You take me to my house, fellows!”

Tom and Willard laughed, but Jerry viewed Teddy thoughtfully a minute as they turned into River Street. Then, ingratiatingly, “You don’t happen to have two quarters, do you, Teddy?” he asked.

“I do not,” answered Teddy promptly and coldly. “Besides, you haven’t anything to carry and it would be wasteful and extravagant for you to ride home. And besides that, Jerry, you owe me a dime now. And it’s about time you paid it!”

“I’d rather do that than borrow any more from you,” returned the other disgustedly. “You’re a tightwad.”

“Honest, I haven’t got any more,” replied Teddy. “Look.” He pulled a leather purse from his pocket and held it open for inspection. It held a quarter, two flattened and defaced pennies and a much begrimed one-cent stamp. Jerry nodded.

“All right. I can walk back without hurting myself. Say, she goes like a breeze, Tom. Let her out some more, why don’t you? How fast can she go?”

But Tom declined. “Some time I will, when we’ve got a good road. If I went any faster here, you’d be shaken out.”

They were in sight of the station now, an old red brick building some sixty feet long that had been built when the railroad first reached Audelsville and had never been altered or improved.

“I don’t know. Most any old place, I suppose. I’ll run down by the freight shed and turn around.”

Although the train was not due for fully fifteen minutes the edge of the platform was pretty well occupied by vehicles. Connors, the livery man, was represented by a two-horse hack and a one-horse surrey. Mr. Martin’s big limousine was there, too, and the chauffeur, a smart young Irishman in a whipcord livery, looked curiously at The Ark as it trundled by. A couple of private turn-outs completed the roster. When, having turned the car around, Tom drew up toward the platform again there seemed no place to stop.

“Take it around there,” suggested Jerry, pointing to a short stretch of platform at the further end of the[106] building which was unoccupied. But Tom shook his head.

“That’s where the express wagons back up,” he said. “They’d be mad and put me out. I guess we’ll have to leave her here, Will.”

“They ought to have more platform,” replied Willard. “This is a punk old station, anyway. Look here, Tom, we ought to have a sign or something on the car to let folks know that it’s public. We didn’t think of that.”

“I guess there are lots of things we haven’t thought of,” sighed Tom as he stopped the engine. “You fellows will have to get out when the train comes in. Then, if I don’t catch anyone, you can get back again.”

“Who get out?” demanded Teddy. “Me? I’m riding back. Here’s your old quarter now, if you can’t trust me.”

“I don’t want your quarter. If I don’t get any passengers you can ride back for nothing, but you’ll have to get out now until I see. Folks won’t want to get in here if it’s filled with kids.”

“Kids!” exclaimed Teddy wrathfully. “Gee, I like that! All right, Jerry; pile out. Can I leave my box in here?”

It wasn’t, however; it was just a shunting engine down in the yards. Meanwhile the various drivers about the station were passing facetious remarks about The Ark. Finally the man who was driving the hack called across. “Where’d ye get it, byes?” he asked with a grin and a wink at the Martin chauffeur.

Tom held his peace, but Jerry smiled genially and answered: “Made it ourselves, Old Snookums. Want a ride?”

“You mean your great-grandmother made it,” retorted the Irishman on the hack. “Sure, I’ve seen better ones than that in the junk yards!”

“Is that so? You’re a pretty smart kid, aren’t you?” the driver sneered angrily. “Mind, now, if that thing you have there scares these horses——”

A guffaw from the driver of a smart looking runabout and grins from others added fresh fuel to the Irishman’s wrath. “For two cents I’d get down from this box and punch your heads,” he declared, “the whole bunch o’ ye!”

Further hostilities were interrupted by the screech[108] of the train down the track. The boys moved across to the platform and Tom and Willard walked around to the front of the station. The express came to a stop with a grinding of brakes and the passengers began to disembark. There were not so very many to-day, perhaps a score in all. Tom and Willard, the former at the front end of the train and the latter at the rear, were ready for them, however.

A man with a sample-case in each hand viewed Tom jovially but pushed by and transferred his luggage to the hack-driver. Several others viewed the boy good-naturedly but passed him by. An elderly lady, however, who was probably a trifle hard of hearing, handed a small brown bag to Tom and followed him around the station. But when she saw the automobile she shook her head in alarm and seized her bag again. “Sakes alive, you don’t expect me to trust my life in one of them things, do you, young man? Aren’t there any carriages here?”

Tom conducted her to the surrey and helped her in, while the driver grinned from the front seat. Meanwhile Willard had fared no better, and the boys, standing on the platform, watched the horse-drawn vehicles rattle away well filled.

“I guess it’s a sort of—of an innovation,” observed[109] Willard. “I suppose we’ll have to educate them up to riding in an auto.”

“How long’s it going to take to educate them?” asked Tom disappointedly. Willard had no answer for that. Teddy and Jerry looked properly sympathetic but were doubtless relieved to find that they would not have to walk home.

“What you want, Tom, is a sign, a good big one,” said Jerry. “‘Any Part of the City for a Quarter,’ or something like that. Folks don’t know the thing’s public, you see.”

“I told them it was,” responded Tom bitterly. “I can’t very well knock them down and throw them in, can I?”

Tom pushed the hand away with a smile. “That’s all right, Teddy, I don’t want your money. Climb in, fellows!”

So The Ark trundled back to the village, completing its first, and unsuccessful, trip.

Discouragement didn’t last long, however. After they had dropped Jerry and Teddy they turned back into Linden Street and stopped at a sign painter’s. After some bargaining the proprietor agreed to paint them a small cardboard sign for fifty cents and have it ready by half-past one. “Any Part of the City, 25 Cents” was the legend decided on. Then it was dinner time and Willard dropped out at his house and Tom took The Ark back to Cross Street.

The sign was ready for them when they called for it, but it was still pretty sticky. The painter looped a cord through it so they could hang it from the car and they went off in high spirits to meet the 1:57. They were confronted by something of a problem. If they secured any passengers from that train and took them uptown they couldn’t possibly get back in time to meet the 2:06.

“Maybe,” Tom answered, “but I’m wondering whether we haven’t got one too many as it is. If we can’t get folks to ride with us——”

“Shucks! We’ll have all the business we can handle as soon as folks find out about us.”

“Well, we won’t worry about the 2:06 train yet. I dare say we won’t get anyone from the 1:57. If we don’t we can wait there for the other.”

As they reached the station early they had their choice of locations along the platform and were nicely installed when Connors’ hack drove up. But instead of taking a position in front or behind The Ark the driver stopped alongside.

“There’s plenty of room ahead there,” answered Willard. “Help yourself.”

“Is that so? Smart, ain’t you? Get out o’ that now afore I has ye arrested.”

Willard looked enquiringly at Tom, and the latter shook his head. The Connors surrey drove up and the driver of it stopped to hear the discussion. The hack driver appealed to him.

“Johnny, these fellers think they have a right to stand here. What’ll I do with them?”

“Put ’em out,” was the laconic reply. The other viewed the automobile doubtfully, evidently at a loss how to proceed. Finally he drove on, tossed down his reins and entered the station. A moment later he returned accompanied by the station agent. The latter came up to Tom and Willard. He was a small man with weak eyes and a sandy mustache and a nervous, querulous manner. He was evidently annoyed at being called from his duties.

“You can’t have that thing here,” he announced hurriedly. “Connors, the livery man, has the privilege for the station.”

“I mean he’s the only one can stand here. You’re after passengers, ain’t you?”

“Well, you’ll have to keep away from the platform then unless you’ve got permission from the railroad. So move on now!”

“I don’t know. Put in an application. Write to the Division Superintendent in Providence. I don’t care what you do. I can’t stand here all day. Move along, can’t you?”

“He doesn’t own anything,” replied the agent exasperatedly. “But he has the sole right to use this platform to get business. You can stand anywhere you like, I guess, as long as you get out of here.”

“He ain’t got no right anywhere around here,” broke in the driver of the hack. “He’s tryin’ to get our trade away, he is. You wait till I tell Connors about it!”

“Oh, tell Connors and be blowed!” said Willard inelegantly. “Go on, Tom, move her across to the other side of the road. I’ll find out if Connors is the only one who can come near their old station.”

Tom started the car, went down to the freight house, turned around and then took up a position across the dusty road, the rival drivers looking on triumphantly. Meanwhile several private teams had appeared and it was almost time for the train. The driver of the hack, whose name, as they subsequently learned, was Pat Herron, still resented their presence and kept up a conversation with the surrey driver loud enough for the boys to hear.

“Who’d be after ridin’ in a thing like that, I’m askin’! Why, believe me, Johnny, it’ll fall to pieces if you give it a kick.”

“I would but I’ve got a sore foot,” answered Johnny[114] with a grin. “I s’pose now that was the first one was ever built, Pat?”

“’Twas an experiment, Johnny. They made that just to see how they shouldn’t do it, me boy. Look at the fine lines of it, will ye? ’Tis a racy lookin’ contraption!”

“Oh, dry up!” muttered Tom. “There comes the train, Will. Come on.” They hung the sign from a bracket as they got out, Connors’ men guffawing at the sight of it, and walked over to the platform. It was soon evident that Pat and Johnny were not satisfied with their victory, for whenever the boys tried to secure a passenger for The Ark one or another of the livery men was at hand to discourage the hesitating customer.

“Sure, sir, you’ll be killed if you ride in his autymobul! ’Tain’t a real car, sir. An’ look at what’s goin’ to drive ye, sir! Sure ’tis certin death, sir!”

But in spite of it all Tom actually secured a passenger, a well-dressed, middle-aged man who carried no luggage, and who seemed in a big hurry.

“All right, all right,” he said testily. “Where’s your car? I’m in a rush. Get me to the paper mills as quick as you can.”

“Right across the road, sir,” directed Tom, searching the platform with his eyes to see if Willard had been as fortunate. But Willard returned alone and the[115] three hurried across to the car. Tom slipped the sign off, opened the tonneau door for the passenger and sprang to his seat. Willard cranked up and in a moment they were off.

Their passenger, sitting impatiently upright, frowned at his watch. “Hurry it up now,” he said. “I’m late already. How far is it to the mills?”

“See that you do.” The passenger snapped his watch shut and leaned back. The trip was a bumpy one and dusty, since their way led them up River Street for a block and then to the right into the extension of Meadow Street and thence into Railroad Avenue, a thoroughfare little better than an alley and traversed principally by trucks.

“What sort of roads do you call these?” asked the passenger disgustedly as he tossed around on the back seat.

“Pretty bad, sir,” replied Willard. “The best way is up through the town, but you said you were in a hurry and so——”

Bumping and jouncing, her springs protesting loudly, The Ark skirted the end of the railroad yards, turned at a sharp angle where the way resembled a dump more than a road, and finally pulled up within a[116] hundred feet of the mills. It was impossible to get any nearer, but the boys showed the passenger the gate through the high board fence and, with a grunt of disgust, he leaped out, fumbling in his pocket.

“Twenty-five cents—twenty-five cents—Here’s a half a dollar; smallest I’ve got.”

“I’m afraid——” Tom looked at Willard enquiringly—— “I’m afraid, sir, I haven’t the change.”

“Didn’t ask for it,” replied the man over his shoulder. “Be back here at three sharp. I want to get the accommodation to Eustis. Don’t forget!”

Tom viewed the half-dollar radiantly. “I think we ought to keep this, Will,” he said. “It’s the first money, you know.”

“All right,” laughed Willard. “Put it away. And now let’s go and make some more. If we hurry we may get there in time for the 2:06.”

Tom jammed his lever in and they jolted recklessly back the way they had come, Willard clutching the seat desperately to keep from being tossed out. As Tom had very nearly kept his promise to reach the mill in two minutes, they were able to return to the station before the west-bound train, which was fortunately two or three minutes late, had arrived. They might as well have spared themselves the trouble and[117] saved the gasoline that they consumed in making the trip, for, although at least two dozen persons got off the 2:06, not one patronized the Benton and Morris Transportation Company’s vehicle. The 2:06 was almost the only train with which the trolley line made any sort of connection. If the express came in on time or merely a minute or two late the trolley car was there at the foot of River Street and, of course, offered a cheap and speedy way of reaching the center of town. To-day the car caught the bulk of the arrivals, while a few walked and some eight or ten piled into Connors’ vehicles. Only The Ark failed to get its share.

“I guess the trouble is,” said Willard when the station had settled down to quiet again, “that they can’t see the auto.”

“That isn’t it,” replied Tom. “They’re so used to giving their luggage and their checks to Connors’ drivers that they can’t get it into their heads that there might be someone else around. If there was only some way to advertise!”

Oddly enough that question was in a manner quickly settled for them. Willard had scarcely finished when Spider Wells, much out of breath and very red of face, panted up to the platform where the partners were seated on a baggage truck.

“Gee, I was afraid I’d miss you fellows!” gasped Spider, mopping his heated brow as he swung himself to the truck beside Tom.

“I want to ride back with you,” continued Spider. “Jerry was telling me about the dandy ride he had this morning. He’s chopping kindling now for his mother. She’s going to give him a quarter if he chops all the afternoon and he’s going to have another ride.”

Spider put his hand in a trousers pocket, pulled it out again and opened it under Tom’s nose. “I brought my quarter with me, Tom.”

The boys laughed and Willard said: “Sorry, Spider, but I guess you had your walk for nothing. We’re not going back to town until after the 3:14 goes through.”

“Twenty-five past two,” responded Willard, leaning back so that he could see the clock in the waiting-room through the nearest window. Spider sighed with relief.

“That’s all right then,” he said. “I’ll wait. There isn’t anything going on to-day, anyway.”

“Yes, but it costs ten cents each way on the trolley and I thought I’d rather have a ride in your automobile. Besides, Cold Spring hasn’t any sort of a team. I saw Jimmy Lippit this morning and he said we’d win easily. Jimmy’s going to play to-day. Jordan’s gone away for a month; gone to the beach. Wish I was!”

“Don’t be a chump, Spider,” said Tom. “We aren’t going to take your quarter. You could have gone to Cold Spring and had your ride with us, too. We didn’t charge Jerry anything——”

“You didn’t!” Spider’s blue eyes opened wide. “Why, he said you took him and Teddy down to the station and back again and that the fare was a quarter each way!”

“So it is,” laughed Willard, “but they didn’t pay it. You hang around until the 3:14 goes, Spider, and we’ll give you a good ride.”

“Honest? That’s awfully good of you. I—I’m willing to pay, though, Will. I’ve never ridden in one of those, you know. Have you fellows been making a lot of money?”

Tom shook his head. “We haven’t got rich yet,” he answered dryly. “Haven’t taken in more than twenty or thirty dollars to-day.”

Spider’s eyes grew round again until Willard laughed. “The fact is, Spider,” said Willard, “we can’t get folks to ride with us yet. They’re so used to riding up with Connors’ men that they don’t even see us.”

“That’s too bad.” Spider frowned. “Couldn’t you—couldn’t you advertise?”

“Just what Tom suggested. But I told him advertising costs money. Besides, where would we advertise to catch the folks that travel on the trains? You see, they come from all around.”

“I tell you!” exclaimed Spider. “I’ll get father to put an article in the paper about you.” Spider’s father was proprietor and editor of the News-Patriot, Audelsville’s principal daily newspaper. “He will do it if I ask him to and it won’t cost you a cent!”

“I’ll get him to put it in to-morrow morning’s paper,” continued Spider enthusiastically. “All about how you two fellows bought the automobile and fixed it up yourselves and are carrying passengers to and from the station for a quarter, which is twenty-five cents less than Connors charges, and—and——” Spider paused, out of breath.

“That would be fine,” said Tom gratefully, “but I[121] don’t know that we ought to let you do it, Spider. If we could pay for it——”

“But the paper always prints things about any new—er—industry,” protested Spider. He pulled a small paper-covered memorandum book from his pocket, found a pencil with a much chewed point and faced Tom eagerly. “What’s the name of your company?” he demanded.

Tom told him and Spider wrote laboriously in the book. Finally, “You look in the News-Patriot to-morrow morning,” he advised triumphantly, putting his book away. “When you fellows get on your feet and can afford it you can put an advertisement in; I’ll tell father you said you would, shall I?”

“Why, yes,” replied Willard doubtfully. “I guess we could do that—later. And we’re very much obliged, Spider, for what you’re doing.”

“’Tain’t anything,” said Spider carelessly. “After all, you see it’s really news, Will; and a paper prints the news anyway, don’t it?”

Willard acknowledged that he presumed it did, and then, as it was a quarter to three, they started the engine, Spider looking on interestedly, and chugged away to the paper mills. Spider returned to the baggage truck to await their return. Their passenger appeared soon after they had pulled up near the gate in the fence, and Mr. Martin was with him. The latter,[122] a man of about fifty years, rather tall and very precisely dressed, accompanied his visitor to the automobile, viewing the latter with frank curiosity and some amusement, and shook hands as he said good bye.

“Glad you came up, Mr. Latham,” he said cordially. “Very glad to have seen you. I don’t think there will be any further trouble about shipments, now that we understand each other. Sometime when you’re up this way I wish you’d let me know. I’d like to have you meet Mrs. Martin and take dinner with us.”

On the way back Mr. Latham seemed to have got over his impatience. He sat back easily in the tonneau—as easily as the jounces would allow—and smoked a cigar. At the station, which they reached ten minutes before the local train was due, Tom stopped the car across the road from the platform.

“Yes, sir. We’re not allowed to go up to the platform. Connors, who has the livery stable here, has the privilege and we have to stand over here. I’m sorry.”

“Humph!” Mr. Latham stepped down into the dust of the road and pulled out his pocketbook. “Another of those combinations in restraint of trade, eh? I think if I were you I’d see if I couldn’t get the road to give me a stand. Let me see, fifty cents, wasn’t it?”

“I’ll see if I can get change in the station, sir,” said Tom, getting out.

“Have you spent that half-dollar already?” asked their passenger with a smile.

“Tut, tut! Give me the half and let it go at that. I dare say you’ve done that much damage to your springs running over that dump.”

“Thank you, sir,” murmured Tom, diving into his pocket for the coin in question. When he found it he glanced at it regretfully and seemed so loath to part with it that Mr. Latham noticed it.

“Why, you’re a regular miser, boy,” he laughed. “You just hate to give up money, don’t you?”

Tom blushed, but Willard thought they owed their benefactor an explanation. “It isn’t that, sir,” he said. “Tom wanted to keep that half because it’s the first money we’ve made with the car.”

“Really? You mean that I was your first passenger? That’s quite interesting, boys. I should feel honored, I’m sure. Then you haven’t been driving this—this vehicle long?”

“We just started to-day,” said Tom. “We haven’t had much luck yet, sir.”

“Well, it takes time to build up trade. Keep trying;[124] that’s the way to win, boys. Sorry to deprive you of your half-dollar, but I guess that bill will do just as well to keep, won’t it?”

Mr. Latham nodded, smiled, and crossed to the station. Spider, who had been impatiently walking about the platform, hurried across and climbed in. “Know who that was, fellows?” he demanded excitedly as Tom swung The Ark around toward town.

“Sure thing! I’ve seen him two or three times. Funny Mr. Martin didn’t send his carriage for him, wasn’t it?”

“I sort of think he did,” said Tom softly. “I saw the Martin rig drive up just as we started away from the train.”

“You did?” exclaimed Willard. “You didn’t say anything about it. Why, it’s dollars to doughnuts it came for Mr. Latham!”

“That’s what I thought,” answered Tom dryly. “And that’s why I didn’t say anything. Think I wanted to lose a passenger?”

Willard and Spider laughed delightedly. Presently,[125] though, as they turned up River Street, Willard sighed and then frowned.

“I wish,” he said, “we’d known who he was, Tom. We might have asked him to let us have a stand at the station.”

But at that instant the train made the crossing, and so Tom, who had slowed down the car, advanced the throttle lever again and continued on his way with a sigh for the neglected opportunity.

That evening Tom, who made the trip to the 6:05 train alone, picked up two passengers and so swelled the day’s receipts to one dollar and a half. Connors seldom sent more than one carriage to the 6:05 and on this occasion Pat Herron was late and Tom reaped what small harvest there was before the livery hack reached the platform. Pat’s look of chagrin more than made up for the insults to his beloved Ark that Tom had been forced to bear.

The next morning Tom and Willard went around to the hotel and saw the proprietor, Mr. Timothy Meechin. Tim, as he was called, was a stout, good-natured man with florid face and a loud laugh who had inherited the hotel property from his father, “Meechin’s” having been a road tavern in the old days when Audelsville was only a wayside settlement. Almost everyone liked Tim Meechin, and his hotel was well conducted and popular, which was a fortunate thing since it was the only hostelry deserving the name[127] in town. But, although Mr. Meechin was kindness itself and seemed genuinely interested in the boys’ venture, he had to refuse their request.

“It’s like this,” he said, a thumb in each arm-hole of his vest—he was seldom seen with a coat——“it’s like this, boys. Bill Connors has a sort of—of a franchise, d’ye see, to carry folks from the hotel to the depot, and t’other way, too, d’ye see. It’s a sort of a contract we made years ago and I wouldn’t scarcely like to go back on it, d’ye see. O’ course I can’t interfere with you if you bring somebody from the depot up here; you got a right to do that; but I wouldn’t like you should stand outside the hotel and take custom away from Bill. You see yourselves, boys, that that wouldn’t do.”

“It seems as if Mr. Connors was operating a sort of transportation trust,” said Willard with a sigh.

“Then there’s another thing,” continued Tim Meechin. “You fellows carry folks for a quarter and Bill he gets fifty cents. So if I let you stand outside the hotel, you’d get all of Bill’s trade away from him sooner or later, d’ye see, and that wouldn’t be hardly fair to Bill; now would it?”

“I don’t see that,” Tom objected. “If we can afford to carry folks for a quarter it seems to me that’s our look-out. All Mr. Connors would have to do would be to—to meet competition, to put his price down, too.”

“Ah, there it is, d’ye see! You fellows have an automobile which don’t cost much to run, but Bill he has a lot of horses to feed and look after and a lot of help to pay wages to. Follows, don’t it, that he can’t carry passengers as cheap as you can?”

“I suppose so,” Tom granted, “but—but if you stick to that idea, why, there wouldn’t be any competition at all!”

Mr. Meechin nodded untroubledly. “Right you are. It’s competition that’s ruinin’ the country, boys. What would I do, now, if a fellow came along, d’ye see, and opened a hotel across the street there? Say he bought the Perkins block and put up a new hotel. Where’d I be?”

“But he’d have a new building, d’ye see, with, say, a bathroom to every suite and—and a roof-garden on top, and one of those restaurants in the cellar and—” Mr. Meechin was getting quite excited and wrought up at the bare thought of the contingency. He shook his head decidedly. “First come, first served, boys; that’s my motto. Here I am and here I’ve been for thirty years, and my father before me, d’ye see, and what right has a fellow who, maybe, never saw Audelsville before to come and try to ruin my business and put me in the poor house? ’Tain’t fair dealing!”

“There’s no other way to look at it, right,” said Mr. Meechin decisively. “And it’s the same way with Bill Connors. Bill has his living to make and his family to look after. He needs the money, boys. And—and I guess you don’t—much, eh? It’s a sort of a lark with you, d’ye see?”

“It isn’t a lark at all,” replied Tom warmly. “It’s business. We’re in it to make money, and we’ve just as much right to make money as Mr. Connors has. Of course if you say we can’t stop outside your hotel and bid for passengers, that’s all right, but it doesn’t seem quite fair to me, sir.”

“It’s fair enough, Tom,” said Willard soothingly, “if Mr. Meechin has an agreement with Connors. I suppose if we stood on the other side of the street and any of your guests chose to walk over there you couldn’t object, sir?”

Mr. Meechin hesitated. Finally: “No, I suppose I couldn’t,” he acknowledged. “But I warn you fair, boys, that I’d have to advise my folks to take Connors’ hack. I’ve got to live up to my agreement with Bill, d’ye see.”

Tom remained indignant for some time. “If we[130] can’t stand at the station and can’t stand at the hotel,” he said bitterly, “I guess we’d better sell The Ark and go out of business right now.”

“Maybe, though, we can get permission from the railroad if we write to the superintendent or whoever he said we should write to. It’s worth trying, anyway. And then if Simms will let us stand in front of his shop we might soon get business from the hotel. Men don’t mind walking across the street to save a quarter and get there quicker, I guess. Let’s go and see Simms now.”

Simms’ was one of those drug stores that fill their windows with signs and placards of patent medicines, headache cures, and temperance drinks, and very little else. It was a rather dirty, run-down little shop, but as it was directly opposite the entrance of Meechin’s Hotel it did a fair business.

Mr. Simms, the proprietor, was a little, light-haired, thin-voiced man of fifty-odd, who looked as though he might be his own best customer for patent remedies. When Willard proffered his request the druggist blinked his eyes for a moment and then smiled craftily.

“Why, I guess there isn’t any objection, boys,” he said. “Of course it’ll be worth something to you, I guess.”

“Well, it ought to be worth a few dollars a month, hadn’t it? Say—shall we say ten?”

“Sure,” laughed Tom, mirthlessly, “let’s say fifty. It isn’t much harder.”

“We can’t pay for the privilege just now, sir,” Willard said frankly, “but if after we give it a fair trial we find that we’re getting custom we might consider it, sir.”

The druggist, however, was obdurate and the boys went off. It was then nearly time to go to the station to meet the first train and they hurried up Pine Street to get the car. It was on the way that Willard recollected that they had not thought to look in the morning paper for the article Spider Wells had promised would be there. Unfortunately Mr. Benton had taken his copy of the News-Patriot to the post-office with him and so when, after some difficulty, I must acknowledge, The Ark had been persuaded to start and was on its way toward the station, Willard insisted on stopping at a news stand and buying a copy. It was well worth the two cents he invested, however. The article was quite lengthy, and was headed in bold, black type, “Build Their Own Car and Operate It—Two Audelsville Boys, Sons of Well-Known Citizens, Show Mechanical Genius and Business Acumen.”[132] Willard read it while Tom guided The Ark stationward.

“There’s a new transportation line in town,” said the News-Patriot. “If you don’t believe it watch for the gray automobile that is to be seen any day flying between the railroad station and the hotel. Audelsville has a new business enterprise and its name is the Benton and Morris Transportation Company, Thomas Benton, President, Willard Morris, General Manager. The lads, one the son of our popular postmaster, and the other the son of Mr. Garford Morris, the well-known cabinet maker of Logan Street, are each under eighteen years of age, and yet, we understand, have practically built the automobile unaided. It is a fine looking machine, as all who have seen it in its trips through town will testify. Audelsville should be proud of two such clever young citizens.

“The auto makes trips between Meechin’s Hotel and the station, meeting all trains, and handling passengers and baggage comfortably and expeditiously. The reasonable charge of twenty-five cents for the trip each way is made and there is no doubt but that the traveling public will warmly welcome this means of transportation, especially when, as is almost always the case, the trolley line fails to make connection with the trains. Young Benton is the driver of the car, while[133] his friend and business associate, Willard Morris, attends to securing trade. Both boys are well known and popular. Morris graduated from high school last month and Benton is in the senior class. The News-Patriot wishes them all good fortune in their plucky venture.”

“There’s a lot there that isn’t so,” said Tom, trying to disguise his pleasure with a critical frown. “That about our making the car ourselves, for instance.”

“Yes, but who cares? It makes a better story, Tom. Why, this ought to be worth a lot to us as advertising. It was dandy of Spider, wasn’t it?”

“Yes; Mr. Wells, too. We ought to find Spider and ride him around all day, Will! Just—just read it again, will you?”

It was well they had the newspaper story to keep their spirits up that morning, for it wasn’t until the 1:57 train pulled in that they succeeded in securing their first passenger, an elderly gentleman who confided to them that he had never ridden in one of “these here contraptions afore” and whose destination was so far the other side of town that the boys doubted whether they had made or lost on the trip! Business looked up a little toward evening, however, and from the 6:05 they gathered three commercial travelers, who filled the car with bags and made good-natured fun of it all the way to the hotel. What added vastly[134] to the boys’ pleasure at that time was the fact that Pat Herron returned from the station with an empty hack!

That evening Willard came to Tom’s house and the boys confided their problems to Mr. Benton and asked his advice. After talking matters over it was decided that they should write an application for a stand at the station and get as many signatures of Audelsville citizens as they could. Then either Tom or Willard would make the trip to Providence and see the superintendent personally.

“There’s a heap of red tape in railroad offices,” said Mr. Benton, “and maybe if you sent your application through the mail you wouldn’t hear anything from it for weeks and weeks. It’ll cost a couple of dollars to make the trip, but you’ll hurry things up a whole lot, I’d say.”

Mr. Benton did not, however, favor the scheme of paying Mr. Simms, or anyone else, for the privilege of standing in front of his store. “I don’t believe,” he said, “that it’s necessary for you to pay anything. I guess you’ve got a right to stand anywhere along the street you want to, just so you keep off the crossings. Of course, I wouldn’t advise you to stop in front of Simms’, now that he’s looking for money, but there’s plenty of other places along there.”

So the next morning, about twenty minutes before[135] it was time for the 9:01 to go through, Tom stopped The Ark in front of a small fruit store, next door to Simms’, and hung out his sign where it could be plainly seen from the hotel. A good many folks paused and looked the car over and asked questions, having evidently read the article in the paper of the day before. Even the occupants of the big trolley car that stopped on the siding nearby showed unusual interest. Tom was alone to-day, for it had been decided that Willard was to secure names to the petition and was already at work. Connors’ hack drove up in front of the hotel and Pat Herron scowled when he saw the automobile across the street. But he made no remarks. Pat had decided to treat the rival concern with silent contempt. Presently three travelers emerged from the hotel and climbed into the hack, although Tom squawked his horn enticingly. Then the hack rolled away and Tom started his engine and followed. In front of the common someone called and he slowed down and looked around. It was Willard, just coming out of the Court House.

“How are you getting on?” asked Tom, casting a glance toward the clock in the tower overhead.

“Fine and dandy. I’ve got fourteen names already. It won’t take me any time to get fifty signatures. Everyone seems willing to sign. One man, though, refused; Hall, of Hall and Duggett. It seems Connors[136] hauls their freight for them, and he said he didn’t want to do anything to hurt Connors. But we’ll get plenty of signatures without his. How are you getting on?”

Tom shrugged. “Nothing doing yet. There were three from the hotel, but the hack got them. Well, I must be getting down; it’s most nine.”

“Wait a minute. Did you see this morning’s Herald? It’s got something about us. I guess they cribbed it from the News-Patriot. I’ve got the paper at home and I’ll show it to you later. We’re getting a heap of advertising, Tom.”

“Yes, but we aren’t getting much business,” replied Tom pessimistically. “See you later, Will.”

Two days later, Willard, armed with his petition, made the trip to Providence. He had secured fifty-five signatures without difficulty, and as they stood for the prominent and influential citizens of Audelsville both he and Tom felt comfortably certain of success. Willard had offered to let Tom make the journey, but Tom had pointed out that if he did they would lose a day with the car. “Maybe it wouldn’t make much difference,” he added gloomily, “but I guess I’d better stay here and attend to business. We need all the money we can get.”

So it was Willard who boarded the 9:01 that Monday morning and settled himself back in a red plush seat with a feeling of vast importance. The agent at Audelsville had told him where to find the railroad offices when he reached his destination and had even taken enough interest in the project to suggest that Willard see the Division Superintendent in the forenoon.[138] He would be in better humor then, thought the local agent.

Possibly neither you nor I would have considered the trip to Providence anything more than a bore, but to Willard, who seldom traveled by train, it was quite exciting and very far from being a bore. He arrived at Providence almost a whole hour before noon and made his way at once to the offices of the railroad, which occupied all of a big, old-fashioned brick building across the street from the station. An elevator took him past one floor and deposited him on the next, and he wandered down a long, dim corridor lined with doors whose upper halves held ground glass variously inscribed with figures and letters. Room 18 was found at last and, uncertain whether to knock or walk boldly in, Willard finally turned the knob and entered. Inside he found himself confronted by a counter which ran the width of the room and behind which were three desks occupied by as many busy men. As no one paid any attention to him, at the end of a minute Willard summoned his courage.

“I’d like to see the Division Superintendent,” he announced to the room at large. A young man with a worried expression looked up and fixed Willard with a stern gaze.

“Oh—why—if you please, I’d like to see him about getting a stand at Audelsville,” stammered Willard.

“Stand?” The man frowned. A second occupant of the room bobbed his head inquiringly around the corner of his desk, scowled and disappeared again. Willard wondered if he was the Superintendent. “What sort of a stand?” demanded the first man crossly.

“Why, a stand for an automobile.” Willard pulled his petition from his pocket and the man arose and came to the counter, stretching a hand forth for the document. Willard gave it to him and the man skimmed it quickly. Then:

“I see,” he said rather contemptuously, deftly dipping a pen in an ink-well and proffering it. “All right. Put your name and address in the corner here and leave it.”

“I dare say. But Mr. Cummings is busy. He can’t see everyone, you know, kid.”

“But I came all the way from Audelsville, sir!”[140] pleaded Willard. “I—I might just as well have mailed this if—if I can’t see him.”

“Just as well,” replied the other, yawning frankly and glancing at the electric clock on the wall. “Well?”

“Don’t you think he’d see me for just a minute? Would you mind asking him, please?”

“Yes, I’d mind very much,” was the impatient reply. “If you want to leave this application put your name on it. If you don’t, move along. We’re busy here, my young friend.”

“But——” Willard sighed disappointedly—“if I could just wait here until he was at leisure——”

The door behind him opened and closed briskly, and a familiar voice asked: “Cummings in, Jones?”

“Yes, Mr. Latham. Step right in, sir.” The man, now smiling and eager to please, hurried toward the end of the counter, lifted a hinged section of it and stood aside while the newcomer hurried through and tapped at a door which Willard had not noticed. In an instant the door had opened and closed and Mr. Latham had disappeared into the inner office. The clerk, for Willard decided that he was no more than that, sauntered back.

“Well, I guess I’d like to speak to him when he comes out. May I wait here?”

Willard nodded as carelessly as the clerk. There was nothing to be gained by modesty, he felt. “Yes, I know him,” he said.

Evidently impressed, the clerk moved back to his desk. “All right. Take a seat there.”

Willard returned his petition to his pocket and retired to one of the two chairs along the wall. Ten minutes passed, and then ten minutes more, and finally the door opened again and Mr. Latham came through. Willard waited until the first vice-president was outside the counter. Then:

“Mr. Latham, may I speak to you a minute, please?” he asked, intercepting the gentleman in front of the door.

“Eh?” The official paused. “Certainly, my boy. Hello, I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?”

“Yes, sir, I—we—took you to the paper mills the other day, you know; at Audelsville, sir.”

“Of course! How are you?” Mr. Latham shook hands heartily. “Let me see, did you tell me your name?”

“Well, Morris, what can I do for you? Here, let’s sit down a minute. Now then!”

“We want to be allowed to stand our automobile at the station, sir. You see, as it is now, they won’t[142] let us because Connors, the livery stable man, has the—the exclusive privilege. It’s hard to get passengers, Mr. Latham, unless you’re at the platform. Folks don’t see you, sir.”

“It’s a petition. It’s got fifty-five signatures on it, sir. I thought maybe——”

“Very business-like, Morris.” Mr. Latham smiled as he ran his eyes over the petition. “Well, you’d better see Cummings about this. He’s the one to go to.”

“That’s what I came here for, sir, but they said he was too busy and wanted me to leave this.”

“Oh, I guess he’s got time to see you. You come with me.” Mr. Latham led the way past the counter and knocked again at the inner door. “Charlie, here’s a young gentleman who wants to see you,” announced the First Vice-President as, followed by Willard, he entered and closed the door again. “He’s got a petition signed by about half the citizens of Audelsville. See what you can do for him, will you? Morris, this is Mr. Cummings. Charlie, shake hands with Mr. Willard Morris, one of Audelsville’s hustling citizens.”

The big man at the big desk smiled and shook hands. “Glad to do anything I can for you, Mr. Morris,” he said. “What’s wanted?”

“Seems to me we’ve let somebody have the station privilege at Audelsville, Henry,” he said.

“We have, but competition’s the life of trade, they say, Charlie, and these young gentlemen are particular friends of mine. I guess we can let them in, can’t we?”

“I suppose so.” Mr. Cummings pressed one of a row of buttons at the edge of his desk and almost at once a clerk entered. “Dictation, Graham.” The clerk seated himself, pulled a book from his pocket and poised a pencil. Mr. Cummings fixed his eyes on the ceiling. “To——” He glanced at the petition in his hand—“To Benton and Morris Transportation Company, Audelsville, R. I. ‘Gentlemen: Your application for platform privilege at Audelsville station received and same is hereby granted, terminable at our discretion. We have notified our agent to afford you space for one’—eh?”

The Passenger Agent shot a glance of inquiry at the First Vice-President, and the latter, with a smile, nodded.

“All right. ‘Space for two vehicles. Respectfully,[144] and so forth.’ Typewrite that immediately, please, and I’ll sign it. Here’s another. ‘Agent, Audelsville, R. I. Benton and Morris Transportation Company granted platform privilege until further notice. You will provide them space for two vehicles. Respectfully and so forth.’ That all I can do for you?”

“Well, that wasn’t so difficult, was it?” inquired Mr. Latham as they left the office a few minutes later.

Willard smiled. “I guess it might have been if you hadn’t helped,” he answered.

“Perhaps. Division Superintendents are pretty busy persons. Well, good luck to you, my boy, and I hope the transportation company will get lots of business and soon begin to declare dividends.”

Mr. Latham shook hands in front of the building and Willard, reassuring himself by a look at the station clock, made his way to a small lunch room and dined regally on a bowl of hulled corn afloat in milk and frosted with sugar, two doughnuts, a piece of blueberry pie and a cup of coffee. After that he strolled around the city for a half-hour and finally boarded the express that took him uneventfully back to Audelsville and deposited him on the platform at six minutes after two.

“Auto to any part of the city! Twenty-five cents to any part of the city! Ride up, sir? Auto to—— Hello, Will! I didn’t think you’d make this train. Did you—Meechin’s Hotel? Yes, sir. I’ll take your bag. Right across the road, sir.”

And Tom, casting speculative glances up and down the platform in quest of other customers, led the way to the car, followed by Willard and the owner of the bag, the latter viewing irresolutely Connors’ hack, into which Pat Herron was conducting three other arrivals. But Tom gave him no time to change his mind.

“Here you are, sir! Have you there in three minutes!” he declared, depositing the gentleman’s bag in front and jumping into his seat. “Turn her over, Will! All right!”

Honk! Honk! The Ark was off with a noisy fusillade from the exhaust and a shuddering grinding of gears and Tom turned anxiously to Willard.

For answer Willard drew forth the letter that Mr. Cummings had dictated and held it for Tom to read.

“Fine!” In his enthusiasm Tom pumped the horn loudly and triumphantly. “Won’t Pat Herron be mad! Say, I’m glad you went, and not I; I’d have made a fizzle of it, I guess.”

“So would I if Mr. Latham hadn’t happened along at just the right moment,” replied Willard. And then,[147] for the rest of the distance uptown, he narrated the story of the trip. Tom became so interested that he narrowly escaped bumping into the fender of a car as it swung around the corner of Walnut Street, eliciting a remarkable flow of eloquence from the motorman.

“Even trolley cars,” Willard agreed, with a laugh, as The Ark drew up in front of the hotel with an imperative squawking of the horn that brought the porter hurrying outside.

“Well, that beats the hack,” said the passenger as he paid his quarter, “even if I did have heart disease once or twice. Say, do you always run as close to the trolley cars as that?”

“Not always,” laughed Tom. “That was something special, a sort of extra thrill, sir.”

“Hm; well, I got it,” replied the man grimly as he turned to follow his bag.

“I see you’re doing business, boys.” Mr. Meechin had strolled out from the lobby and, with thumbs in the arm-holes of his waistcoat, was interestedly observing the car.

“Getting more every day, sir,” responded Willard. “Thinking of putting on another car.”

Tim Meechin grinned. “Really now! You’ll be[148] rich before you know it. Was there any others on the train?”

“For you? I believe Pat Herron is bringing two or three up,” answered Tom. “They’ll be along in time for supper, sir.” And Tom, throwing in his clutch, chugged away, leaving Mr. Meechin grinning after them. “I got two from the hotel for the 1:57,” confided Tom proudly as they turned into Pine Street. “They were just getting into the hack when they saw The Ark. ‘Hey,’ said one of them, ‘what’s the matter with taking the auto?’ Then Pat Herron tried to hustle them into his old barouche, talking a blue streak all the time. But they wouldn’t have it. ‘Does that car run, kid?’ one of them called over. ‘Like a breeze,’ said I. ‘Get you to the station in three minutes, sir!’ So they grabbed their bags from Pat, although they very nearly had to fight him to get them, and came across and got in. They made a lot of fun of the car on the way, but I didn’t mind that; they can josh all they want to if they give me their quarters! And, besides, when I landed them at the station in something less than four minutes they didn’t think The Ark was so poor, after all! I’ve made three dollars and a quarter so far to-day. What do you think of that? And now that we can stand at the platform we’d ought to do a heap better. After dinner we’ll go down and get the agent to give us our stand.”

“One of our stands. Didn’t you notice that I’d got permission for two autos?”

“We may have some day,” responded Willard, “and I thought it might save trouble to fix for the other one now. Look here, why shouldn’t we have two if we make this thing go? Why shouldn’t we carry trunks as well as people, Tom? As it is now, even if we get a passenger he has to have Connors bring his trunk up for him. We might as well do that as Connors. And, besides, there’s lots of money to be made hauling stuff from the freight house to the shops. If we get ahead by the end of the summer we could very easily buy a light truck; you can get one for about twelve hundred.”

“Twelve hundred!” Tom stared at Willard as though he suspected his friend of having lost his senses. “Twelve hundred! Where would we get twelve hundred, I’d like to know!”

“Oh, we might. We wouldn’t have to pay it all at once, maybe. For that matter, I dare say we could find a second-hand one at a bargain. I saw dozens of them in Providence. Even if we got a very small one to start with——”

“You want to go right home and bathe your head,”[150] said Tom sympathetically. “That trip and the excitement of it were too much for you, Will. Considering that we’ve so far made only about ten dollars and owe a couple of hundred I guess we’d better not buy any motor trucks just yet.”

“I didn’t say now, did I?” responded Willard untroubledly. “You wait until we once get going right. Why, we ought to take in ten or twelve dollars a day. That’s, say, sixty a week, and sixty a week is over two hundred and forty a month!”

“All right. When we’re making two hundred and forty a month, Will, we’ll talk about that motor truck. Just at present what we want to remember is that we’ve got to pay Saunders some more money in a little over two weeks. And we’ve got to buy gasoline this afternoon, too. Don’t let me forget that, whatever you do!”

When Pat Herron arrived at the station that evening to meet the 6:05 train he looked like a man about to indulge in an apoplectic fit! For there, right in front of where he had been in the habit of stopping his hack, stood that pesky automobile!

“Get out of that now!” bawled Pat angrily. “’Tis plain I’ll have to be after having the cop run yez in! Move on, I tell yez!”

But Tom and Willard only regarded him untroubledly for an instant, and then went on with their[151] conversation. Pat tossed down his reins, leaped from the box and hurried to the side of The Ark. His helper, who drove the surrey, was not present, since there were seldom more passengers from the six o’clock train than could be carried in the hack, and Pat, perhaps, felt the lack of support. At all events, he was less truculent when he reached the car.

“What’s the good of yez makin’ trouble, byes?” he demanded. “Sure, ye’ve been told ye couldn’t stand here. If Connors gets after yez he’ll have yez arrested, like as not.”

“Oh, that’s all right, Pat,” answered Willard. “I ran over to Providence this morning and saw the president of the road. We’ve got a stand here now; in fact, two of them. After this you’ll find us between these two posts, Pat. And later on we’ll have another car at the far end there. So don’t you worry any more, old top.”

“Seen the president, did ye?” sputtered Pat. “Yez’ll see the police station, that’s what yez’ll see! Wait till I get a word with Gus Tinker!”

Off strode Pat to the agent. Willard and Tom exchanged a smile. A minute passed and Pat was still absent. Finally he returned around the corner of the station, scowling terrifically. “Wait till I tell Connors on yez!” he called, shaking a huge fist in their direction. “He’ll have yez out o’ that, begorra,[152] before yez knows what’s happened to yez! Comin’ here an’ takin’ the bread out of me mouth, ye thieves!”

Further remarks were drowned by the shriek of the locomotive whistle and then by the roar of the express as it drew into the station, its brakes rasping and grinding. Only three passengers got off, and two of the three set off on foot. The third hesitated a moment between the impassioned eloquence of Pat Herron on one side and the overtures of Tom and Willard on the other. The passenger was a meek looking little man with a suit case many sizes too large for him to which he clung in desperation.

“It’s the hotel you’re wantin’, sir?” wheedled Pat. “Sure, I know yez well. I took yez up the last time, sir. Step right this way and——”

“Automobile waiting, sir! Only a quarter of a dollar, and get you there in a wink!” declared Tom.

“Autymobul, is it!” cried Pat. “Take a look at it, sir! It’s all I’m askin’ yez, sir; take one look at it! Would yez call that an autymobul? Sure, ’tis all your life is worth, sir, to set foot in such a thing! Ten accidents they’re after havin’ already with the thing, sir, and the Lord only knows——”

“He’s lying, sir! An automobile’s a heap safer than those horses of his. Look at them, sir! Why, the last time they ran away——”

“Safe and gentle they be, sir! Your own mother’s[153] mother could drive them, sir! Sure, pay no more heed to them blatherskites! Give me your bag, sir, and I’ll have yez up to the hotel while we’re standin’ here talkin——”

“Whoa!” cried Willard suddenly. “Whoa! It’s that off horse again, Pat! Has he got his foot over the traces or what, Tom? Whoa!”

Pat turned in alarm and Tom made a sudden grab at the man’s suit case and got it!

“Right this way, sir, right this way!” said Tom. “Turn her over, Will. There’s your bag, sir. Mind the step. Thank you.”

“You’d best leave your name and your home address with me,” cried Pat, following. “An’ don’t ever say I didn’t warn yez! You’re takin’ terrible risks, sir, to be savin’ a quarter of a dollar, bad cess to them thieves an’ robbers that’s got yez! Yah! Go on with your old autymobul! Sure, it’ll fall to heaps afore yez get to the corner! Wait till I tells Connors the way yez have insinooated yerselves into his business! Wait till he gets the police after yez! Wait——”

Tom wiped a hand across his forehead. “Gee,” he whispered, “if it took all that work to get all of them I’d quit the business, Will!”

Fortune favored the Benton and Morris Transportation Company for several days and the company’s coffers took on an appearance of prosperity. The Providence News published a half-column story on Tuesday about the enterprise, a story which, evidently built on the article in the Audelsville paper, took frightful liberties with the truth. According to the News Tom and Willard had not only assembled the car but had actually turned out or cast most of the parts! The News even declared that the engine was built on a new and startling principle and promised to revolutionize the future construction of gas engines! Tom was a veritable wizard of mechanics and Willard an electrician of remarkable genius. To the boys themselves the article sounded absurdly silly and it made them rather ashamed, but it was interesting reading and it wasn’t long before they discovered that it was helping their business. Travelers from Providence wanted above all else to see and ride in the famous automobile,[155] and if the appearance of the car struck them as being somewhat peculiar and old-fashioned they only nodded and looked wise. However, Providence didn’t supply enough travelers to Audelsville to overtax The Ark, and a dozen patrons a day was considered good business. And so things stood when, on Saturday, their first stroke of ill-luck befell them.

Thus far The Ark had given practically no trouble. Sooty spark plugs had on one occasion somewhat interfered with the car’s performance, but that was a matter of small moment and easily remedied. On Saturday morning, however, when Tom ran The Ark out into Cross Street and started toward the hotel to look for passengers for the 9:01, it didn’t take him long to discover that the automobile was suffering from a new and, to Tom, alarming malady. From under the floor, as it seemed, came a most fearsome thumping, as though the car’s vitals had all broken loose and were having a battle royal. Tom stopped in consternation, got out, and peered under the car. Then he walked around it and finally lifted the hood and viewed the engine anxiously and sternly. But everything looked perfectly normal, and presently he took his seat again and started on. But as soon as he put the load on the engine the thumping began again. It was so loud that he wouldn’t think of taking the car onto Main Street. But just what to do[156] he didn’t know. He stopped again under the green shade of a horse-chestnut tree and frowned. It was getting toward nine o’clock and soon it would be too late to meet the first train. In despair he got out again and went over the engine. It was getting plenty of oil, the wiring seemed all right and the cylinders appeared to be working nicely. Whatever the trouble might be, it was plainly back of the fly-wheel, and that meant—well, almost anything! Tom wished Willard were there to share the worry, but Willard had something to do at home for his mother, and Tom had agreed to pick him up on the way from the hotel to the station. Realizing, however, that two heads might be better than one, Tom turned the car around and headed back along the street in search of his partner. Jerry Lippit, curled up in a hammock in his side yard, heard the approach of The Ark a block away and, although the book he was reading was terribly fascinating, simply had to investigate. So when Tom came abreast of the Lippits’ house Jerry was awaiting him on the curb. Tom was glad of an excuse to stop that horrible thumping if only for a minute, and so slowed up.

“I don’t know. I wish I did. Something’s busted, I guess. She started to act that way when I took her out of the garage.”

“Maybe she didn’t want to get up so early,” suggested Jerry. “Maybe she’s still asleep and snoring. What you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” answered Tom disconsolately. “She seems to run all right, but I’d hate to take her through town making such a racket. I guess I’ll have to get Jimmy Brennan to look her over. I’m going over to Will’s now.”

Tom shook his head. “I don’t suppose so. Get in. Gee, there it goes again!”

“Sounds as if she was falling to pieces, don’t it?” asked Jerry cheerfully. “Didn’t leave a screw-driver or a wrench or anything like that inside her, did you?”

“Don’t be a chump,” growled Tom as he steered into Lincoln Street. At the Morris’, Grace, Willard’s sister, came out to the gate and informed them that Willard was at his father’s shop on the next street. So, after Grace had been acquainted with the catastrophe and had properly sympathized, The Ark thumped her way around to Logan Street. By that time Jerry was talking baseball, but found a very uninterested audience in Tom. High school was to play a team from the cotton mill that afternoon, and Jerry, who had succeeded to the position of second baseman[158] in the absence of Jordan, was full of what they were going to do to their opponents.

“Better. Why don’t you? You can’t run the car, can you? You and Will come and see the game. It’s a fine chance, Tom.”

“Maybe we will, if the car isn’t fixed; and I don’t suppose it will be,” answered Tom discouragedly as he drew up in front of the cabinet shop and honked the horn. Willard came out and was told of the trouble, Tom running the car back and forward to prove that he was not exaggerating.

“There’s just one thing to do,” said Willard decisively. “And that’s to get hold of Jimmy. Come on in and telephone to him.”

So Tom followed Willard to the shop, leaving Jerry in the car, and got Jimmy Brennan on the telephone. After reciting the symptoms Tom asked Jimmy what he thought the trouble was.

“Might be your gears,” was the reply. “Might be most anything. You can search me. But I tell you what I’ll do, Tom. You put the car in your stable and I’ll drop around as soon as I’ve had dinner and see what I can do. I don’t have to work this afternoon and so maybe I can get it fixed up for you. I[159] wanted to see the ball game, but I guess that won’t matter. I’ll be around about half-past one.”

“That’s mighty decent of you, Jimmy,” replied Tom gratefully. “You don’t think I’d better try to run the car this morning, do you?”

“All right. I’ll take it right back. I’m sorry about the ball game, though.”

“Oh, that’s all right. It don’t matter. A fellow I know at the mill is going to pitch and I thought I’d like to see it. Well, so long. See you later.”

Tom hung up the receiver and he and Willard returned to the sidewalk. Tom was so busy bewailing the misfortune—for Saturday was the one day in the week when The Ark was sure to do a good business—that it was not until they were almost at the curbing that either discovered that the automobile was not there!

But their unfinished questions were soon answered. From down near Main Street came a thump, thump, thumping that told the story. Moving steadily and slowly along was The Ark. In the front seat Jerry Lippit was to be seen moving this way and that, and occasionally looking back along the street. Catching[160] sight of Tom and Willard in the distance, he waved a hand. Tom broke into a series of remarks far from flattering to Jerry, but Willard saved his breath for running.

“He’ll smash into something sure as shooting!” exclaimed Tom as he caught up with Willard. “Why, he never ran a car in his life! I—I’ll lick him good and hard when I catch him, the silly chump!”

At that moment The Ark reached Main Street and bumped across it, avoiding a dray by the merest good fortune, and continuing on its way toward The Hill. The pursuers gave sighs of relief when they saw that the car had escaped the dangers of Main Street. Luckily, The Ark was running on first speed and the boys were running on high! And half way through the next block they got within hailing distance.

Jerry turned in his seat for a brief look behind and shouted something that neither of the others could hear, but the car kept on going.

“I’ll kick you around the block when I get you!” bawled Tom. “You stop that car this instant, you—you——”

But Willard had managed a final sprint and had now reached the running-board, and The Ark stopped her thumping and drew up at the side of the street. Tom, filled with rage, made a leap at Jerry, but one[161] glance at that youth’s face was sufficient. Jerry was as white as a sheet, although he was trying now very hard to smile.

“I’m awfully sorry, fellows, honest!” said Jerry. “I didn’t mean to start it. I—I just pulled something and—and it started.”

“Suppose you did!” said Tom angrily, pushing the luckless Jerry out of the seat. “Why didn’t you stop it?”

“It’s a wonder you didn’t smash into something on Main Street,” said Willard severely.

“I thought I was going to. There was a dray coming along and I tooted the horn as hard as I knew how, but the man kept right on and the car missed the end of it by about a foot. Say, maybe I wasn’t scared!”

“I hope you were!” growled Tom. “Next time maybe you’ll let things alone. You can jolly well foot it home now.”

“I don’t mind walking back,” responded Jerry, who was now out on the sidewalk, “but I wish you wouldn’t be mad with me. I didn’t mean to start it, Tom, honest I didn’t!”

“Well, you did it, anyway. If you’d struck that[162] dray you’d have smashed this car into kindling wood.”

“Well, I’d have smashed myself, too, wouldn’t I?” demanded Jerry, a trifle resentfully. “That ought to prove that I wasn’t doing it on purpose!”

“All right, Jerry,” said Willard soothingly. “You didn’t mean to do it, but don’t monkey with the buzz-saw again. Next time you might not be so lucky. Let him come in, Tom. There’s no harm done.”

“Well,” said Tom none too graciously, “he can come back with us. But he’s got to understand that he’s not to try any fool tricks like that again.”

“I won’t,” sighed Jerry. “I was scared blue. But—but, say, don’t you think I steered it pretty well?”

Jimmy Brennan was as good as his word and turned up at the garage promptly at half-past one. After taking the car out on the street for a little ways he ran it back, removed his coat and got down to business.

A half-hour later the trouble was laid bare. A pinion had cast three of its teeth, and these, small lumps of steel, had worked in between the wheels and were raising what Jimmy termed “particular Cain.” He removed the damaged pinion and fished out all the particles of broken teeth he could find.

“You’ll have to have a new pinion,” he said finally, “but I guess you can run on this for a while after I’ve filed it a bit. It may take a week to get a new one, and I guess you don’t want to be laid up that long.”

They assured him that they didn’t. “But,” asked Tom, “are you sure it won’t do any harm to run with that thing busted like that?”

“Not as long as no more of the teeth break. If they do you’ll know it because they’ll make a noise. There’ll be a noise there anyway, but it won’t be much. You can run all right. I’ll take this down to the shop and put it on the lathe. Might as well leave these things right here until I get back,” he added, referring to the scattered parts that littered the floor.

“Oh, I’ll get it fixed so you can run her to-morrow. It’ll take an hour or two to get down to the shop, do the work and get back. You couldn’t use the car to-day anyway, so I’ll leave it until evening. I do want to see that game, fellows.”

Tom swallowed his disappointment and assented. “And I wish you’d attend to ordering the new part,” he said. “I wouldn’t know how, I guess.”

“All right. I’ll get a letter off to-night. Hold on, though; hadn’t we better telegraph for it? We might save a couple of days that way.”

The boys agreed that that would be wise and Jimmy dropped the broken pinion into his pocket. “You fellows going to the game?” he asked. “You’d better. That fellow O’Brien who is going to pitch for the mill team is a wonder. He used to pitch for Waterbury.”

Tom hesitated, looking doubtfully at Willard. “I—I[165] suppose we might as well,” he said finally. “I wish this hadn’t happened on Saturday, though. There’s always a lot of travel on Saturday.”

“Well, it can’t be helped, Tom,” comforted Willard. “We might as well make the best of it. And I, for one, would like mighty well to see the game. I guess a holiday won’t do us any harm, Tom.”

It wasn’t so easy for Tom to forget it, however, and all the way out to the field he was quiet and depressed. Willard and Jimmy Brennan talked baseball with enthusiasm, Jimmy being a “fan” of the deepest dye. They reached the entrance quite early and while Willard was searching for a mislaid half-dollar near the ticket window some of the members of the high school team passed. Among them was George Connors, a big, good-looking, dark-complexioned chap of eighteen, who was Audelsville’s catcher. Willard and Tom both spoke to George as he passed, but all they received in return was a scowl, and Tom turned inquiringly to his friend.

“What’s the matter with George Connors?” he asked. “He looked as though he wanted to bite me.”

“Me, too,” answered Willard. “I guess he’s down[166] on us on account of his father. I suppose his dad’s been calling us names for interfering with his business, Tom.”

“Oh, that’s it?” he nodded understandingly. “I didn’t think about that. Yes, I dare say we’re in wrong with the whole Connors family, Will.” He followed Willard and Jimmy Brennan through the gate and found a seat with them on the left field bleachers. “I was thinking, coming out here, Will,” he continued as he pulled his hat down over his eyes and prepared for hot weather, “that we might do pretty well bringing folks out to these games. We could make two or three trips without missing any trains.”

“I don’t believe many of these folks would pay a quarter to ride out,” Willard objected.

“We might take them both ways for a quarter,” answered Tom. “You see if we’re out here we’ve got to go back anyway, and we might as well take passengers. Suppose we try it the next time there’s a game?”

“I’ll tell you how you might make some money,” observed Jimmy Brennan. “There’s a big picnic two weeks from to-day at Wyman’s Grove. Why not take folks out to that? It’s nearly two miles out there and you could easily get a quarter each way.”

“We’d have to make at least two trips to make much,” objected Willard. “Still——”

“If we only took four people out and back we’d make two dollars,” interrupted Tom. “And if we make two dollars often enough we’ll be rich. Know anyone who’d like to go out there in the car, Jimmy?”

“Sure! I’ll go, for one. And if you say you’ll make the trip I’ll tell the fellows about it. Lots of them would pay a quarter to ride in an automobile. Where’ll you start from? Better make it down-town somewhere, because there’ll be lots of folks going from the mills.”

“I’ll have the car at the corner of Connecticut Avenue and Oak Street,” said Tom. “Then I can go right out Oak Street to Cross and on to Main and save quite a distance. You tell folks I’ll be there, Jimmy. What time is the picnic?”

“I have to meet the 2:06 train, so I’ll say two-fifteen. How about bringing them back? What time will they want to come home?”

“Won’t many of them start home until after supper,” said Jimmy. “Say about seven.”

“That’s fine. I’ll meet the 6:05 and then go right out to the grove. It oughtn’t to take more than fifteen minutes to get there, ought it?”

“It’s only two miles. You can do it in ten without any trouble. I dare say you’ll be able to pick up three or four loads coming back. And here’s another thing, fellows. Ever think of hiring out your car in the evening or on Sundays?”

“Why, taking folks out for rides. Advertise in the paper or put a sign in the windows down-town saying you’ll rent the car for so much an hour. I wouldn’t wonder if you’d catch some folks that way.”

“We might do it evenings,” agreed Tom doubtfully, “but I don’t believe father would want me to do it on Sundays.”

“That so? Well, stick to week-days, then. I just suggested it. I don’t know how it would work out. You might try it, though.”

“Much obliged,” said Tom. “We—we’ll think it over. How much ought we to charge by the hour, Jimmy?”

“Oh, I don’t know. In the cities they get five dollars, or they used to. You could charge two dollars, maybe, for a carful. That would leave you about a dollar and seventy-five cents, allowing for gasoline and wear on the car.”

“I think that’s a bully idea,” said Willard. “Tell you what, Tom; I’ll just have to learn to run the[169] thing. First thing we know we’ll be so busy you won’t be able to do it all. Besides, supposing you got sick or something! Then where’d we be?”

“I don’t see why you don’t learn to run it,” agreed Jimmy. “I guess Tom could teach you all right. If he can’t I’ll do it. And any time you want someone to run The Ark for you, Tom, you let me know. I dare say I could get off for a day or so and do it.”

“Really? I’ll remember that,” said Tom gratefully. “It might be that something would happen some time. They’re going to start the game. The mill team has the field. Is that your friend there, Jimmy? The big, tall fellow with red hair.”

“Yes, that’s Doyle. You watch him, fellows. He’s a wonder. Used to pitch for Waterbury, Doyle did. Of course, he wasn’t a first-string man, but he was pretty good. I saw him pitch five innings once against New Haven and there wasn’t a hit made off him. If he hadn’t passed four men there wouldn’t have been a score!”

“Well, if he passes four men to-day it will help a lot,” said Tom with a laugh. “Why didn’t he stick to baseball, Jimmy?”

“Oh, he got married and had to earn money. So he went into the mill. He hasn’t played ball for a couple of years, I guess, but I don’t suppose he’s forgotten how.”

He hadn’t, and there wasn’t much to that game after four innings. Doyle may have lost some of his cunning through lack of practice, but he had sufficient skill left to keep high school guessing. In the second inning, and again in the fourth, high school got men on bases, and in the fourth tallied two runs, a lucky hit by Captain Madden sending in a couple of runners. But that was all the scoring high school was able to do. On the other hand, the mill team knocked Billy Younger out of the box in the third, piling up five tallies. Billy had an off day for once and was extremely unsteady. Chester Madden pulled him out and went to the mound himself. Chester got a sound drubbing and when the ninth inning was at last over the mill team had won by twelve runs to two. Spider Wells and Jimmy Lippit walked back with Tom and Willard—Jimmy Brennan had left them to hob nob with the redoubtable Doyle—and explained the defeat satisfactorily. Spider, flourishing his scorebook, proved, to his own satisfaction at least, that the game had been thrown away by poor generalship. Jimmy scoffed.

“Poor generalship nothing! Why, we couldn’t hit that red-headed professional, you chump! Nobody could! We all told Chester he had no business letting them pitch a fellow like that against us! What do you expect? Why, every fellow on their team was[171] twenty years old or more. And at that they only got eleven hits off us!”

Tom and Willard left Jimmy and Spider at the corner of Washington and Linden Streets, still wrangling over the game, and went to Willard’s house. There, on the front steps, with the assistance of several slices of cake, they talked over Jimmy Brennan’s idea of renting the car evenings. In the end they decided to try the scheme, and Willard got a paper and pencil and between them they drew up an announcement to be printed on cardboard and placed in the shop windows. When finally corrected the legend ran as follows:

“There,” said Willard, “that ought to fill the bill. We’ll get Higginson to print about two dozen of these and we’ll put them in the store windows. Bet you we’ll get a lot of bids!”

“Will the store-keepers let us put them in their[172] windows, though?” asked Tom. “I don’t see why they should.”

“Of course they will! Don’t you see all sorts of notices in the windows? Dances and picnics and entertainments of all sorts. Sure, they’ll let us put them in. I guess Higginson is closed by this time, isn’t he?”

As it was almost six o’clock, and a Saturday besides, Tom thought he was. “We’ll take it to him the first thing Monday morning. I hope Jimmy gets the car fixed all right this evening.”

“Yes, we ought to have a flock of them; about thirty or forty, I guess. You don’t know just where we’d get ’em, do you?”

“We might find another as cheap as The Ark if we looked around. You can’t say she wasn’t a bargain.”

Tom bent and peered under the steps and then looked carefully about the tiny front yard. “I’m looking around, Will, but I don’t see one,” he announced gravely. “Funny you can never find a thing if you want it!”

Willard grinned. “Just the same, though,” he said stoutly, “I’ll bet you we’ll have another some day.”

“If we do you’ll have to run it. I can’t attend to more than one at a time.”

“A little. What’s the matter with getting out early Monday morning and giving me a lesson?”

“All right. I guess it would be a pretty good thing if you could run it, Will. Of course, you won’t be here next winter, but—— Say, who’s going to run The Ark when high school begins again? We’ve got to be thinking about that pretty soon.”

“I know. Seems to me we’ve proved by this time, Tom, that the thing’s going to be a success, eh?”

“Of course it is! And that’s why it won’t do to stop it just when we’ve got it going well. I guess we’ll have to advertise for someone to come here and run it, Will. How much do you suppose we’d have to pay him?”

“Gee, if we could! I suppose, though, he makes a[174] lot more at the machine shop than we could afford to pay him.”

“Not yet. Let’s wait till we’ve been running a full month, Will, and then see just how we stand. Are you keeping a strict account of everything?”

“Of course I am!” replied Willard indignantly. “I’ve got every cent set down.”

“That’s the ticket. Then at the end of the month we—we’ll strike a balance and see where we stand. Then we’ll know how much we can afford to offer Jimmy. I don’t believe he makes much more than twenty a week, Will.”

“Neither do we—yet,” replied Willard dryly. “I guess we will, though. Father was saying the other evening that there’s a heap more travel in winter than there is in summer. So if we can make, say, twenty-five a week now we ought to make more in the winter, Tom.”

“Sure. Well, I guess it’s almost supper time. Will you come over this evening and see Jimmy fix the car?”

“Yes, I’ll be around. Why don’t you stay and have supper with us, though?”

“Can’t; I’ve got some things to do. You come over. Say, maybe we can sort of find out from Jimmy[175] how much he’s getting now, eh? You—you might kind of get him talking, you know, Will.”

On Monday The Ark was running again apparently as well as ever save for an occasional rumbling sound that issued from the differential. Perhaps had The Ark been a quieter car normally the noise from the broken pinion would have been more apparent. As it was, one would hardly have guessed that anything was wrong. Very early Monday morning Tom and Willard went out on the Graywich road and Willard had his first lesson. As he had attended most if not all of the lessons given Tom by Jimmy Brennan, and had even held the wheel himself once or twice, Willard was not quite a novice. But whereas Tom had taken to driving as a duck takes to water Willard was decidedly suspicious and nervous.

“Oh, go on!” Tom would command impatiently. “Throw your lever! It isn’t going to bite you!”

But Willard wasn’t taking anyone’s word for that and so made slow progress. It wasn’t until he had[177] been through at least a dozen road lessons that he got on what Tom called speaking terms with The Ark. But although his progress was slow it was also certain, and by the end of that summer Willard had become in some respects a better automobile driver than his partner. Tom’s style was a little bit slap-dash, a little bit breath-taking, in fact. Changing gears was a noisy operation with Tom and he had a way of swinging around corners without releasing his clutch or using his brake that was more spectacular than scientific. Willard, on the other hand, could go from low to second and through to high without the occupant of the back seat suspecting it, could keep the speed even without apparent effort and was a much saner chap at the corners. He never, however, quite got over his awe of the car and the engine remained to him a wonderful mystery to the end. If you wanted to take a nice, quiet ride, without any shock to your nerves, you would do well to engage Willard for chauffeur, but if you wanted to make, say, the 9:01 express and had only five minutes to do it in, you had best put your faith in Tom. In those days a speed limit for automobiles had not yet been thought of in Audelsville, which was a lucky thing for Thomas Benton!

Down at the station the relations between Pat Herron and his assistant, Johnny Green, and the members[178] of the Benton and Morris Transportation Company remained strained. There were, however, no overt acts on the part of the Connors’ interests during the first part of the week, and Willard, who had predicted that Connors would either try to have their platform privilege revoked or attempt to frighten them off in some way, was surprised. Pat Herron, aside from an occasional sneer, was strangely silent. Of course the competition for trade was as brisk as ever, and alighting passengers were literally fought over on the platform. As, however, Johnny Green had to remain and look after the horses, it left only Pat Herron to solicit passengers, and, as there was only one of Pat, the advantage lay with Tom and Willard. By the middle of that week The Ark was getting its full share of the business and Johnny Green usually departed with an empty surrey.

There was one thing, though, that bothered the boys, and that was their inability to handle baggage. Very often Tom made a second trip to the station and piled a trunk or three or four sample cases into the tonneau of the car and took them up-town. But The Ark was not designed for carrying baggage and her varnish and leather suffered in consequence. They at length decided that the twenty-five cents they received for hauling a trunk did not pay for the damage wrought to the car, and after that when a traveler[179] handed over his baggage check it was transferred to the agent with the request that he send the trunk or case up by Connors. Willard became more firmly convinced than ever that they needed a small motor truck or delivery wagon, although he couldn’t see just how they were going to get it.

On Thursday Mr. William Connors showed his hand in two ways. The Ark had taken up its stand in front of a small fruit store almost opposite the hotel entrance. The fruit dealer, a good-natured Greek, had proffered no objection so far and The Ark had been picking up a good many passengers from the hotel. But on Thursday, just after Tom, who was alone in the car, had chugged The Ark to its accustomed position, a tall member of Audelsville’s small but efficient police force sauntered up.

“You can’t keep your car standing here, sir,” he announced. “There’s been objections made and I’ve got orders to keep you away.”

“Objections?” asked Tom in surprise. “Who’s been objecting?” He looked toward the fruit dealer, who was piling cantaloupes on the stand in front of the shop. “Has he kicked?”

The policeman shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. I’ve got my orders. That’s all I know about it. You’d better go and talk with the Chief, I guess.”

“All right.” Tom got out and cranked the engine and then went slowly and thoughtfully down the street. He didn’t doubt for a minute that Bill Connors was at the bottom of it and he wished that Willard was there to consult with. In the end, by the time he had reached the Town Hall, he decided to postpone calling on the Chief of Police until Willard was along to do the talking. So he went on down to the station with an empty car and found fresh evidence of Connors’ activity. From the whip-socket of Pat Herron’s hack hung a tin sign bearing the inscription, “FARE 25 CENTS.” Connors had at last met competition!

The hack got two passengers from the 9:01 and The Ark none. But, for once, Tom didn’t much care. He was anxious to see Willard and acquaint him with the latest developments. Willard was at his father’s[181] shop and hurried out when Tom drew up and honked the horn. Willard was properly indignant over the action of the police, but seemed to derive only satisfaction from the rest of Tom’s story.

“Don’t you see, Tom, that if he has put his price down to meet ours it shows that he’s getting worried; that we’re cutting into his business?”

“I knew that anyway,” replied Tom dubiously. “He didn’t have to cut his price to tell me that. What I’m afraid of is that he will get more passengers now.”

“I don’t believe he will,” said Willard. “I tell you it’s the novelty of riding in an automobile that catches them; that, and the fact that they’ll get up-town quicker. I don’t think we need to worry about that, Tom. But this other business——” Willard stopped and pondered. “I suppose Bill Connors sort of stands in with the police folks. You wait a minute till I finish addressing some bills and we’ll go down and have a talk with the Chief. I’ve only got about a dozen left to do.”

The Police Station was at the back of the Town Hall. You went down a half-dozen stone steps and found yourself in a narrow hall-way from which rooms opened left and right. There was a red lantern over the entrance and a sign on the first door to the right: “Police Department.” The door was wide open and beyond a low partition which ran through[182] the center of the room an officer in his shirt-sleeves was writing in a book at a desk.

The man at the desk looked up briefly, shouted “Chief!” and went back to his work. A chair creaked in an inner room and presently a very big and rather stout man appeared. He, too, was in his shirt-sleeves and carried the morning paper in one hand. The boys knew him well by sight and stood rather in awe of him, he was so big and authoritative looking.

“Yes, sir. My name is Willard Morris and his is Tom Benton. We—we run an automobile to the station and one of your men came up this morning and said we couldn’t stand in front of the fruit store across from the hotel because someone had made a kick about it and——”

“Hold on a minute,” interrupted Chief Mansfield. “Go a little slower. You’re the fellows who run that gray auto, are you?”

“And you’ve been keeping it in front of the Greek’s store on Main Street, haven’t you?”

“It wouldn’t have mattered if he had,” said the Chief. “When you want permission for a carriage stand in the public streets you must come to the Police Department for it. Didn’t you know that?”

“Well, it’s so. Now, I’ve received a protest against you and you’ll have to stop it. You’re interfering with traffic. Main Street is a pretty busy thoroughfare and it won’t do to have vehicles stopping by the hour there.”

“But we don’t stay there by the hour,” denied Tom indignantly. “We take the car there only about a quarter of an hour before train time——”

“You should have known. Ignorance of the law is no excuse, boys. You’ll have to keep moving after this.”

“Would you mind telling us, please, who it is that—that made the objection?”

“Not a bit. I had a protest from Mr. William Connors. Have you got that letter of Connors’ there, Sam?”

The man at the desk rummaged a moment and handed a folded sheet of paper to the Chief. “Here it is,” said the latter, running his eye over it. “He[184] says your automobile interferes with the free passage of his teams through Main Street in the vicinity of Meechin’s Hotel.”

“He just says that because we’re taking some of his trade away from him,” exclaimed Tom indignantly. “There’s plenty of room there for his old teams to pass!”

“That makes no difference, son. If you want to apply for a stand for a public vehicle on Main Street you send in your application and we’ll pass on it. Meanwhile you’ll have to keep away. Sorry, but that’s the law.”

The Chief smiled in a far-away manner. “Can’t say. Try and see,” he answered. “If there’s a public demand for it, you’ll get it.”

The boys were silent while they went back to the car. It was only after Tom had cranked up and had started slowly up Main Street that he summed up the situation with “Well, I guess Connors has got us this time!” Willard nodded dubiously.

“There isn’t much use making that application,” went on Tom, “because he hasn’t any idea of granting it. Connors has told him that we are interfering with his business and that he wants us kept away from the hotel. And I guess Connors has enough[185] influence in town to get a favor when he asks it.”

“Still, I think we ought to try,” said Willard. “And, look here, Tom, if they won’t let us stand opposite the hotel maybe they’ll let us have a place further down-town.”

“Perhaps; but that wouldn’t be much good. Folks from Meechin’s wouldn’t walk far to get us, especially if they had bags.”

“N-no, but we might pick up townsfolks now and then. Anyway, I think we’d better make an application. We’ll ask for the place we want. If we can’t have that we’ll take what they give us. I’m glad they can’t stop us from standing at the station.”

“They would if they could,” said Tom. “Connors has made up his mind to fight, I guess.”

“Let him! I sort of like a scrap. Anyway, he can’t do any more than he has done.”

“I’ve got two sample cases, son, to go to Dunlop and Toll’s. Here are the checks. Rustle ’em right up, will you?”

The speaker, a nattily attired traveling salesman who had just arrived on the 11:34 train, handed the two bits of pasteboard to Tom and, with a sharp look at his watch, settled himself in The Ark. “Be sure and have them up there at the side door inside fifteen minutes, son. I want to skip back on the six o’clock.”

“All right, sir,” replied Tom cheerfully. But he was secretly dubious as he walked around the station to give the checks to the agent. Connors had a way of taking his time in the matter of delivering baggage, and Tom much doubted that the sample cases would reach the department store within the hour. The agent was sorting over baggage, with the help of his assistant, a youth of eighteen, when Tom found him.

“Mr. Tinker, will you get these up to Dunlop and Toll’s just as soon as you can, please?” asked Tom. “The gentleman says he wants to get the 6:05 back this evening.”

Gus Tinker stretched a hand out for the checks, then hesitated and shook his head in a worried way. “Sorry, Benton, but Connors says he can’t handle baggage for you. Told me to tell you so.”

“He’s sort of mad about you fellows buttin’ in on him,” explained the agent. “Guess you’ll have to handle your own trunks.”

Tom hesitated a moment, at a loss. Then he hurried around the corner of the station and signaled to Willard. In a few words he told the latter of the new development. Willard frowned thoughtfully, while the single occupant of The Ark impatiently honked the horn. Then, his face clearing:

“It’s all right,” Willard declared. “Give me the checks. Hustle uptown and dump me out at Walnut and Main. There’s a fellow there that does teaming, and I’ll get him and have the things up in twenty minutes.”

“What’s wrong?” asked the drummer, as the boys came up. “Don’t spin any yarn about those cases not being here!”

“They’re here, all right, sir,” replied Tom; “and we’ll have them up inside of twenty minutes.”

“See that you do, son; I’m in a rush to-day.” The passenger settled back in his seat and the automobile started off up River Street in a hurry, passing Pat Herron and his hack in a cloud of dust. Luckily when Willard left the car at Walnut Street the man he sought was dozing on the seat of his tumble-down wagon under a faded red and white umbrella which bore the legend, in letters laid on with black paint by an unpracticed hand: “J. Duff, Local Express. Jobbing Done.”

While The Ark chugged on along Main Street to the department store Willard explained to the half-awakened Mr. Duff what was required. The expressman was not enthusiastic. The station was a long way off, neither he nor his horse had had dinner, and two trunks were hardly worth making the trip for. Finally, though, he agreed to bring the cases up for thirty-five cents apiece, and all Willard’s persuasion failed to lower the price.

“There isn’t time. They’ve got to be at Dunlop & Toll’s right away. All right, I’ll pay thirty-five. But you’ve got to hurry.”

Very leisurely Mr. Duff gathered up his reins and clicked to the dejected-looking horse. Willard climbed to the seat and the shade of the gaudy umbrella, and they set forth. Mr. Duff was not much of a conversationalist, and Willard was busy thinking, and so they had almost turned into River Street before either spoke. Then it was Willard who broke the silence, and in very business-like tones.

Mr. Duff viewed him uncertainly. Finally, “I might,” he answered cautiously.

“Well, a fellow and I run an automobile to the station and fetch passengers from the trains.” Mr. Duff nodded. “Very often they have trunks and sample cases and things. Why can’t you haul those as well as Connors?”

“Why, to the hotel, usually,” replied Willard a trifle impatiently. “What difference does that make? The question is, will you engage to haul our baggage for us at twenty-five cents apiece, if we let you handle it all.”

The expressman flicked the horse gently with a worn-out whip, and remained silent for the space of[190] a minute. Then, “How many would there be?” he inquired suspiciously.

“I don’t know. Some days there might be five or six; other days only one or two, perhaps none at all.”

“Of course! We’ll pay as soon as you do the work. But you’ve got to agree to do it quickly. That is, if a trunk comes on the 11:34 you must have it delivered by 12:00 or a little after.”

“I might be busy,” objected Mr. Duff. “’Sides, some of them trunks they has nowadays is pretty heavy for one man to handle. I ain’t as young as I used to be, mister.”

“The station agent will give you a hand with the heavy ones,” said Willard, trying to conceal his exasperation. “Of course, if you don’t want to do it, there’s Connors.”

“He don’t need the money like I do,” objected Mr. Duff. “I got a family, I have. I’m a poor man. Times is hard.”

“Well, then, for the love of mud, why don’t you do it?” cried Willard. Mr. Duff turned and viewed him in mild surprise.

“Twenty-five cents apiece, you said?” he inquired, as he backed the wagon up to the platform. Willard nodded. Mr. Duff sighed as he tossed the reins to the horse’s back. “I s’pose I’ll have to do it,” he said dolefully.

The sample-cases reached Dunlop and Toll’s ten minutes late, for Mr. Duff had never learned to do anything in a hurry. But the traveling man had evidently not relied very implicitly on Tom’s promise to get them there inside of twenty minutes and seemed quite satisfied. He handed Willard fifty cents and Willard added two dimes to it and passed the amount over to Mr. Duff.

“Now remember,” he said sternly, “you’re to hustle when I give you any checks. By the way, if you aren’t at the corner of Walnut Street, where can I find you?”

Mr. Duff shook his head slowly. “I dunno. I might be most anywhere, I s’pose. Just you write the order on the slate and I’ll see it.”

“On the post at the corner. Leastways, it’s there mostly, when the boys don’t steal it on me.”

“All right. If you’re not there I’ll write on the slate and you’ll find the checks at the station. I’ll tell the agent to give them to you. Understand, do you?”

Mr. Duff nodded calmly. “S’pose I do,” he murmured, as he ambled back to his wagon.

Tom, who had remained to make certain that the sample-cases arrived safely, grinned as Willard joined him. “Smart, wide-awake old chap, isn’t he?” he laughed.

“He’s a wonder!” agreed Willard. “Actually, it took him ten minutes to get those two cases from the platform to his wagon, Tom! But he will have to do. I’ve arranged with him to look after all our baggage and so Connors needn’t worry us.”

“I wonder,” said Tom, as he headed The Ark toward Willard’s house, “if it would pay us to have a horse and wagon of our own?”

“I thought of that,” replied Willard. “I don’t believe it would, hardly. They say it costs about six dollars a week to feed a horse, and——”

“Oats and hay. It’s a fact. Feed is awfully high. Then there’d be the price of the horse and wagon.”

“We might hire them,” reflected Tom. “Well, we will see how your friend Mr. Duff gets along. He may do all right.”

“He’d be fine,” laughed Willard, “if folks weren’t particular about getting their trunks the day they arrived!”

On the whole, however, Mr. Duff proved, during the next fortnight, fairly satisfactory. Several times, when he had trunks to deliver to different addresses he managed to get them mixed and so left them at the wrong places, and he was exasperatingly slow, but for that matter Connors himself was far from infallible and Audelsville was not very exacting in such matters.

A few days after Willard had made his arrangement with Mr. Duff an incident occurred that ended all semblance of neutrality between the rival companies. The new pinion had arrived and been put in place and The Ark was running splendidly. Perhaps a more critical judge than either Tom or Willard might have found fault with the car on the score of excessive noise, but the owners were quite satisfied. The night before Tom had taken a party of four to Graywich and back, thereby adding the sum of six dollars to the firm’s exchequer, and had not reached his bed until after midnight. As he arose every morning at six he had not had much slumber and, consequently, was feeling a bit sleepy as he waited at the platform for the arrival of the 9:01 train. As a rule the first train from the east dropped few passengers at Audelsville and Willard’s services at the station were scarcely needed. So he seldom accompanied The Ark on its first trip and Tom was alone on the seat[194] when Pat Herron drove up and took his place back of the car. Tom glanced about and then closed his eyes again. Of late Connors had been sending only the hack to the station, for the automobile had cut into his business so that the surrey was no longer necessary, and so when an instant later Tom heard wheels alongside he paid no attention, supposing the passing vehicle to be a private carriage. Suddenly there was a crash and a jar and Tom was rudely shaken out of his doze. A heavy express wagon had backed into the front of The Ark. As Tom sprang to his feet the driver of the wagon, Johnny Green, was looking back with vast concern.

“Git ap, you old fool!” he cried to his horse, waving his whip mightily. The horse obeyed, but when the wagon had pulled a foot or two away a sudden tightening on the lines brought it back again against the car. Tom, already on the ground and fighting-mad, made a dash at the horse’s bridle.

But Tom, tugging, pulled the prancing horse several yards up the platform, Johnny threatening him with whip and tongue.

“I did not! He backed before I could stop him! And, anyway, you leave my horse alone after this!”

“Then you learn how to drive him,” retorted Tom, aware of the mocking gleam in Johnny’s eyes and knowing full well that Pat Herron was enjoying this hugely. “You’ll pay for the damage, too, before you’re through with me.” He went back to the front of the car and looked it over. Fortunately the end of the springs had borne the brunt of the attack. The paint was knocked from them, but that was easily remedied. One search-light was bent and its glass broken and the end of a mud-guard was crumpled. Trembling with indignation and anger, Tom looked up to find Pat Herron grinning across at him from the seat of the hack.

“That’s all right. You can tell Connors it will cost him about twenty dollars to fix it. I dare say he put you up to it!”

“I saw it, but it wasn’t any accident, and you know it!” retorted Tom hotly. “And somebody will pay for the damage, too!”

“Sure, I could buy one o’ them things for five dollars,” said Pat Herron facetiously. “A fellow offered me a couple the other day would I take ’em away.”

Tom, with a final look at the damage, climbed back[196] to the seat in dignified silence. Johnny Green had dismounted and was solicitously examining the back of his wagon. Presently he turned, with a wink, to Pat Herron.

“What for did you start your machine up like that and bump into me?” he inquired in hurt tones. “Look at what you did to me paint!”

“I didn’t start my machine,” returned Tom indignantly. “You backed into me on purpose, and I hope it scraped your paint all off.”

“Didn’t he start his machine and bump the back of me wagon, Pat?” asked Johnny Green.

“Sure he did,” replied Pat with a grin. “I see him do it. It’s damages he’ll be after payin’.”

But the train very considerately roared into the station at that moment and further hostilities were interrupted. Tom had the satisfaction of capturing the only two persons who wanted to ride up-town, and bore them off in triumph. But the indignity and damage done to The Ark left him sore and wrathful and after he had disposed of his passengers he sought Willard and between them they made out a letter to Mr. Connors, acquainting him with what had happened and notifying him that they would hold him responsible for the amount of the repairs. Mr. Connors[197] replied promptly the next morning. He regretted that the accident had occurred but was assured by both his drivers that the automobile had caused the damage by running suddenly into the back of his wagon. That being the case, he had no intention of paying for any repairs to the automobile. As soon as he found out how badly his wagon had been damaged he would let them know and would expect a prompt settlement! Tom was hopping mad and wildly insisted on placing the matter in the hands of a lawyer. But Willard pointed out that as no one but Connors’ two drivers and Tom himself had witnessed the affair, and as Pat Herron and Johnny Green would swear to the same tale, Tom’s chance of being believed was small.

“We’ll just have to take our medicine and smile,” said Willard. “I don’t believe Connors will ever send us a bill——”

“And the best thing we can do is have Jimmy Brennan fix things as best he can. I don’t believe it will show much, anyway. I guess we got out of it pretty well, Tom.”

A day or two later Jimmy straightened things out and Tom finally became pacified. About this time they received a reply to their application to the Police Board. They had not expected to get what they had[198] asked for and so were not greatly disappointed. The Board informed them that in its judgment there was no demand for added carriage facilities in the part of town petitioned for and that their application was denied. If, however, the petitioners cared to apply for a stand at the corner of Main and Chestnut Streets their application would probably be favorably considered.

“Main and Chestnut Streets!” growled Tom. “Why, that’s half-way to the station! No one would ever find us there!”

“They know that,” replied Willard. “That’s why they offer it to us. I hope Connors chokes! Well, I guess that keeps us out of town, Tom.”

“You want to be careful this hot weather,” observed his chum with an attempt at humor.

“They won’t let us stop the car anywhere,” Tom went on, disregarding the slur, “but they can’t prevent us from driving up and down the street, can they?”

“Well, then what’s to prevent me from taking the car up to the hotel just before train time and driving it back and forth slowly? If anyone wanted to get in I’d have a right to stop, I suppose.”

“Of course you would! Why didn’t we think of that before? But—but it will use up a lot of gasoline, won’t it?”

“Not much. Besides—” and Tom looked savage—“I’d waste a gallon a day to get ahead of Connors!”

“And I’d pay for it out of my own pocket!” declared Willard. “That’s what we’ll do, then, Tom. We’ll try it for a few days, anyhow. We’ll start to-morrow morning and I’ll go with you.”

It was a rather tedious and trying job keeping The Ark on the move all the time, but it answered the purpose apparently quite as well as keeping it stationary. If a person wanted to ride down in the car, he didn’t hesitate to use his lungs, and Tom, always with an eye on the hotel entrance, drew up and took him in. The policeman on the beat watched proceedings closely and was plainly disgruntled, and had Tom given him the least excuse he would have swooped down and made trouble. But Tom was too wise to stop The Ark for an instant save to pick up or set down passengers.

Quite often now Willard took the wheel and Tom sat anxiously beside him, ready to take control in an emergency. Tom could be as cool as a cucumber just as long as he was running the car himself, but when Willard, or even Jimmy Brennan, had the wheel he was as fidgety as a hen with one chicken! However,[200] it was not long before Willard convinced him of his ability to run the car without mishap, and there finally came a day—Tom had contracted a sore-throat and was forced to keep to the house for twenty-four hours—when Willard conducted The Ark to and from all trains without aid or supervision.

When Connors’ hack had been running a week under the new twenty-five cent tariff it became evident that in meeting the price of his rival the livery man had not succeeded in attracting any more business. The Ark continued to get at least half of the train arrivals. There were times when Tom had to refuse passengers, since the car held only five persons normally and only six by crowding. Many times Willard walked back from the station because there was no place for him in The Ark, or was picked up half-way to town by Tom after the latter had delivered his fares. The commercial travelers were the best and steadiest patrons of Benton and Morris, and as the summer progressed their number increased. The boys got to know some of them very well, to know them and like them. And the traveling salesmen liked the two boys and made it a point to ride with them. Many of them took a genuine interest in the venture and whenever they came to town had to know just what progress had been made in their absence. There’s a saying to the effect that a satisfied customer[201] is the best advertisement, and the boys discovered the truth of this, for quite frequently a stranger would step off the train with:

“You the fellow that has the automobile? Bill Jones told me I was to ride up with you. Here’s my grip, and I’ve got a couple of trunks to go up, too.”

One stout and jovial hardware drummer whose suitcase held the inscription “J. Fawcett Brown,” and who was known to his friends as “Spiggot,” had humorously named the automobile “the Irish Mercedes,” and the name stuck. “Well, son, how’s the Irish Mercedes going these days?” a passenger would inquire as he yielded his grip. “Haven’t broke the record for a dirt track yet, have you?”

Of course all the patrons of The Ark were not commercial travelers. Prosperous looking gentlemen inclined toward stoutness were taken to the paper mill or the cotton mill; hurried, worried-looking men were whirled over to the railroad shops; and now and then a lady traveler stepped with evident misgiving into the car and was whisked to some residence on The Hill. And so, by the middle of August, the Benton and Morris Transportation had just about all the business it could handle during the day, while in the evenings it grew to be the exception when The Ark was not out on the road with a party.

And then there was the picnic. It was a big affair,[202] gotten up every summer by the mill employees and participated in by many others. Tom made four trips to Wyman’s Grove in the afternoon and in the evening brought seven carloads home. The trolley line ran within a quarter of a mile of the picnic grounds and most everyone made use of the special cars provided by the railway company. But there were plenty who were eager to pay a quarter of a dollar to ride out in style in The Ark and Tom could have filled the car on each trip had it been four times bigger. The picnic added over ten dollars to the company’s assets at the cost of two or three gallons of gasoline, and both Tom and Willard were well satisfied.

Tom’s scheme to take folks to the ball games did not result so successfully and after trying it one Saturday afternoon it was abandoned. The ball field was not very far from town and the young folks, who made up the bulk of the audiences, preferred to walk and save their quarters.

About this time, to be exact, on the fourteenth of August, the Benton and Morris Transportation Company held its first monthly business meeting and declared a dividend!

The meeting was held after supper in the little office at Mr. Morris’ cabinet shop. When Tom arrived Willard had his book and papers spread out on the desk and was all ready for business.

“I thought,” said Willard, “we’d better come around here where we wouldn’t be interrupted. You can’t do anything like this at home because Grace is always butting in. Do you want to go over this yourself or shall I do it?”

“You do it,” answered Tom, pushing his hat back from his forehead and perching himself on the sill of the open window. It was a hot, still night, with a wonderful big round moon throwing black tree shadows across the quiet street. From somewhere around a corner came the tinkle of a piano and, further up the street, Mr. Canton’s setter puppy was barking ferociously at the moon. But for these sounds, each of which seemed a part of the summer night, all was silence, the silence of a stifling August[204] evening when not a leaf stirs and even the moonlight seems hot. Willard ran a finger around inside the low collar he wore and assumed the rôle of treasurer.

“I tell you right now, Tom,” he began, “you’re going to be surprised, awfully surprised.”

Willard cleared his throat. “The books show,” he began in an important tone, “that we have taken in during the period from July twelfth to August eleventh inclusive, the space of one month, thirty-one days——”

“That we have taken in,” continued Willard, unruffled, “from—er—all sources the sum of $187.75.”

“One hundred and eighty-seven dollars and seventy-five cents,” repeated Willard in triumph.

“It’s all here, day by day. Let’s see. On station trips we made exactly a hundred and twelve dollars. We took in sixty-five dollars on evening—er—rentals and ten dollars and seventy-five cents the day of the picnic. Total, one hundred, eighty-seven, seventy-five!”

“Great Scott! Why, that’s—that’s over two thousand[205] dollars a year! Are you sure you’ve got it right, Will?”

“Look for yourself,” said Willard offendedly. Tom dropped from the windowsill and followed Willard’s finger as it passed down the pages, pausing at totals and pointing out “Forwards.”

“Seems all right,” murmured Tom. “Say, we’ve been doing some business lately, haven’t we?”

“You bet. Look at this day, August eighth; nine dollars and twenty-five cents from station work and six dollars from an evening party; total, fifteen dollars and twenty-five cents! That’s the best day of all, although the picnic day came pretty close; thirteen-fifty. We didn’t do much station work that day.”

Tom whistled softly and sank into a chair. “A hundred and eighty-seven!” he muttered. Then, his voice dropping: “I suppose, though, we’ve had to spend a lot of that,” he said questioningly.

“Ye-es, a good deal. Gasoline costs such a lot, Tom. Wish we could get along without it! Here’s what we’ve disbursed.”

“Repairs and supplies other than fuel, eight dollars[206] and sixty cents; printing, including sign-painting, three dollars and eighty-five cents; one tire and one tube, twenty-two dollars and fifty cents——”

“Expense of trip to Providence, two dollars and twelve cents; incidental expenses, one dollar and sixty-five cents. That’s all.”

“We’ve expended fifty-six dollars and two cents. Take that from one hundred, eighty-seven, seventy-five and it leaves one hundred and thirty-one dollars and seventy-three cents.”

“So we’ve got on hand one hundred and eleven dollars and seventy-three cents. Or, anyway, that’s what we ought to have.”

Willard shook his head. “We’ve only got a hundred and ten, ninety-eight. We’re seventy-five cents shy, Tom. I’m sorry. I’ve put away every cent and kept strict account, but——”

“Shucks, what does seventy-five cents matter when[207] we’ve got all that money? And—and maybe you made a mistake in your figuring.”

“Maybe I didn’t!” exclaimed Willard indignantly. “More likely you forgot to hand some money over some time, Tom.”

“I might have,” mused the other. Then, triumphantly: “I’ll tell you where your seventy-five is!” he cried. “Remember the chap who went away without paying Mr. Duff for his two sample-cases and bag?”

“Of course! I forgot that. I suppose that ought to go down to profit and loss.”

“Loss, I’d say. Although we’ll get it out of him the next time he comes to town. I remember him, all right. He had red hair and freckles and wore a pink shirt. Looked like—like a sunset, he did.”

“Hope he doesn’t change his shirt,” laughed Willard, as he corrected his account. “We might not recognize him.”

“I’d know him as long as he didn’t dye his hair! Well, what are we going to do with all that money, Will? I suppose we’d better pay back some of what we borrowed, hadn’t we?”

“I should think so. Suppose we pay your father his fifty and I’ll take twenty-five.”

“But you put in a hundred and twenty-five and dad only put in fifty,” Tom demurred. “You take fifty and we’ll pay dad twenty-five. That’s fairer.” And[208] after some discussion it was settled that way. “Then,” said Tom, “we have about thirty-five left, haven’t we? What’ll we do with that?”

“We’ll let twenty-five of it remain in the treasury,” replied Willard, “and declare a dividend of five dollars apiece. How’s that?”

“You—you just do it,” laughed Willard. “We’ve declared it. To-morrow we’ll each take five dollars out.”

“Think of that!” murmured Tom. “Say, that’s fine, isn’t it? Why, I didn’t suppose I’d get anything out of it for a long time! I wonder——”

“I wonder what I’ll do with it. I guess I’ll start an account at the bank, a savings account. Did you know that they pay you three per cent. interest, Will? What’s three per cent. on five dollars?”

“Is that all?” Tom’s face fell. “I’ve a good mind to spend it, Will!”

“There’s one thing we’ve forgotten,” observed Willard later, “and that is that I haven’t any license to run that car, Tom. I guess I’d better have one, eh?”

“I should say so! Gee, they might have nabbed you that day you were out alone! I didn’t think about it. Anyway, it’s only two dollars.”

“Well, it’s almost as much as we started business with,” replied Tom dryly. “The firm paid for my license and it ought to pay for yours. To-morrow we’ll get an application and fill it out. Now let’s get out somewhere where it’s cool. That gas makes it hotter than the dickens in here.”

They locked up and, together, Willard carrying his books and papers, sauntered down the street and crossed to Logan Court, pausing at the corner a moment to further infuriate the setter puppy. From the blind end of the court it was possible to sneak through the Widow Thomas’ side yard, scale a fence, and drop into the Willard premises. Mrs. Thomas, however, objected to such proceedings, and so it was incumbent on them to proceed cautiously, a fact which[210] lent the thing quite a glamour of adventure. To add to their difficulties, the widow was entertaining friends on the front porch and they had to duck behind the lilac hedge as they passed and then slip quietly through the side gate. All went well until Tom, confused by the black shadows on the ground, walked into a hose-reel. His cry of surprise was loud enough to be heard on the porch and they had just time to dodge into the dark shrubbery along the fence before the sound of scraping chairs told them that the widow and her friends were investigating. Behind the shrubbery they waited, doubled up with laughter. Finally, quite distinctly across the yard, came the widow’s voice: “I guess it’s that Morris boy,” she said resignedly. “He seems to think my place is a public highway. I’m going to speak to his father about him the first thing in the morning.”

“She always says that,” Willard replied, “and never does it. Come on; they’ve gone back.”

They emerged from the shadows and went further along, until they were opposite the Morris’ back-yard. Then a hard scramble over a high board fence and they were safe. Unfortunately, though, Willard dropped his book and it took them several minutes to rescue the papers from among the currant bushes. In celebration of the fine showing of the company,[211] Grace Morris was called on to prepare lemonade, and the three sat on the porch in the moonlight and sipped the cooling beverage and nibbled cookies until long after their proper bedtime.

A few days later Willard received his license to operate the automobile and for the next fortnight the affairs of the company went swimmingly. Then one morning Mr. Duff informed them in his dreamy, detached way that he wouldn’t be able to handle any more baggage for them.

“Connors was to see me last night and said as how I was interferin’ with his business,” explained the expressman. “So I guess I won’t be workin’ any more for you.”

“Interfering with his business!” exclaimed Willard. “Well, why shouldn’t you interfere with it if you want to?”

“Then why do you let him tell you what you shall[213] do or sha’n’t do?” demanded Tom impatiently. “Gee, you’d think Connors owned this town!”

Mr. Duff viewed him thoughtfully for a moment. Then, “Well, he owns the house I’m a-livin’ in, anyway,” he said reproachfully.

“Yep.” Mr. Duff nodded slowly. “And he says he might have to raise my rent five dollars a month on me. Says if his business don’t improve he’ll have to.”

“I see.” Willard nodded his head thoughtfully. “And he doesn’t want you to haul any more baggage from the station, eh?”

“Why, confound it, you make more than five dollars a week doing our work,” exclaimed Tom. “I should think you could afford to pay him more rent if he asks it.”

But Mr. Duff shook his head. “He might keep on a-raisin’ of it,” he said dejectedly. “And he might put me out. No, sir, I don’t want to do anythin’ to anger Mr. Connors. ’Tain’t wisdom!”

And all the boys could say had no effect. Mr. Duff resolutely severed his connections with the Benton and Morris Transportation Company then and there, and the boys trundled off up the street with a new problem confronting them.

“I suppose,” said Willard finally, “that we might have our passengers hand over their trunk checks at the hotel. Connors couldn’t refuse to take them then.”

“Why couldn’t he? He’s got Tom Meechin on his side, hasn’t he? Besides, that wouldn’t be business. No, sir, if we carry passengers we’re obliged to look after their baggage, and that’s all there is to it. Isn’t there anyone else in this town that does expressing or jobbing?”

Willard shook his head. “I don’t think so. I made inquiries just after we hired Duff; the day he got Mrs. Miller’s wardrobe trunk mixed up with that drummer’s sample case. I guess the only thing for us to do is to find a horse and wagon of our own. Wouldn’t there be room for them in your stable?”

“I suppose so. There’d be plenty of room for the horse, anyway, and I guess we could get the wagon in alongside the car if we had to. But they’ll cost like anything, won’t they?”

“We might be able to hire them,” suggested Willard. “How would it do to advertise?”

“I couldn’t?” asked Willard confidently. “I’ll bet I could! Gus Tinker would give me a hand at the station and the porter would help me at the hotel.”

“How about when it was a private house? I’d like to see you wrestling with a trunk like that wardrobe thing of Mrs. Miller’s you were just talking about.”

“I’d manage somehow,” responded Willard doggedly. “Besides, you aren’t obliged to carry trunks up any stairs. I’d just dump ’em at the door.”

“Yes, and have the women scolding you! If we have a horse and wagon we’ll have to hire someone to drive it, Will, and handle the trunks. That’s all there is to it. Meanwhile, we’ve got to think what to do for the present. There’ll be trunks on the 11:34 as like as not.”

They were silent for a while. Tom drew The Ark up in front of his house and poked the switch off with his foot and they sat there in the shade of a big maple and thought hard. It was Tom who finally broke the silence.

“Yes, a sort of a horse,” answered Willard. “But I don’t believe he’d let us have him. He’s about a thousand years old; the horse, I mean.”

“I didn’t think you meant Mr. Lippit,” replied Tom sarcastically. “There isn’t any harm in asking, anyhow.[216] Let’s find Jerry and get him to ask his father.”

“I don’t believe they have a wagon, though,” said Willard, as he descended to crank the engine.

“We can find a wagon somewhere easily enough. Saunders has a lot of second-hand ones and I guess we could rent one if we wanted to.”

Jerry Lippit, however, was not at home, and the boys spent the better part of an hour tracking him down. They finally discovered him at Spider Wells’, half-way up The Hill. Jerry and Spider were concocting marvelous beverages on the back porch with the aid of much ice, a bowl of sugar, three lemons and a bottle of vanilla flavoring extract. Tom and Willard sampled the concoction, and, from motives of diplomacy, voted it fine. Then, resolutely declining second helpings, they unfolded their story, and Jerry was instantly filled with wild enthusiasm. Likewise Spider.

“Great!” exulted Jerry. “You can take Julius Cæsar, of course! And we’ll get a wagon from Saunders and Spider and I will drive it. That’s dandy!”

Tom viewed Willard in dismay, but the latter never batted an eyelid. “Fine!” he agreed. “Only thing is, I’m afraid you fellows will get tired of it and then we’ll be just where we are now. Unless you’d still[217] let us use the horse. Of course we’ll pay for him.”

“We aren’t going to get tired, are we, Spider? Anyhow, if we do, you can still have Julius Cæsar. I’ll ask father this noon. How much shall I say you want to pay for him?”

“I don’t know,” replied Willard. “You see, Jerry, we’d feed him and look after him, and that costs a good deal. I guess you’d better let your father fix the price.”

“All right. I guess he’ll be glad to have someone take the old horse off his hands and use him for his keep. He’s talked lots of times about selling him, but we’ve had him so long he don’t hardly like to do it, you see. Why, I suppose we’ve had Julius Cæsar ’most twenty years!”

Jerry shook his head. “I don’t know,” he answered vaguely. “Maybe thirty or forty.”

“Pshaw,” said Spider, “horses don’t live that long, ever; do they, Will?”

“None of mine ever did,” replied Willard gravely. “Can he—can he go, Jerry?”

“You bet he can! ’Course, he ain’t awfully fast now, you understand, but he used to do a mile in two-ten——”

“Well, two-something,” amended Jerry untroubledly. “Maybe it was two-forty.”

“And maybe it was two-sixty,” suggested Tom laughingly. “Never mind, though, if he can get from the station to town in half an hour he will be good enough for us. We’ll look you up after dinner, Jerry, and see what your father says. You try to make him let us have him.”

“Don’t you worry,” replied Jerry, pouring himself a third tumblerful from the glass pitcher. “When he understands that I’m going to drive him it’ll be all right.”

“Say, I’m going to drive him sometimes, ain’t I?” demanded Spider. “You said——”

“Of course,” answered Jerry impatiently from behind his glass. “Only dad would feel easier in his mind, you see, if he knew I was in charge. I’ll let you drive him—sometimes.”

Spider didn’t look quite satisfied with the tone of that promise, but made no further protest, and Willard asked them if they wanted to take a ride before The Ark went to the station to meet the 11:34. They did, and after hurriedly finishing the contents of the pitcher and returning the vanilla bottle to the kitchen cupboard in a somewhat surreptitious manner, Spider and Jerry tumbled into the back of the car.

“Spider doesn’t believe that I ran this one day,”[219] observed Jerry presently as they rolled down the gentle slope of Walnut Street. “I did, didn’t I, Tom?”

“You did,” responded Tom grimly. “And it’s a wonder you didn’t kill yourself and smash the car up!”

Spider laughed tauntingly until Jerry pummeled him into silence. “Anyway,” said the irrepressible Jerry, “you’ve got to own I did mighty well considering I’d never driven before, Tom. I did do mighty well, didn’t I, Will?”

“You did,” answered Willard gravely. “The way you just didn’t smash into the back of that dray was a—a marvel of skill, Jerry. I hope you can drive a horse as well as you can drive an automobile.”

Jerry grinned. “Sure I can. You see there isn’t so much—what-you-call-it—mechanism to a horse, Will. If you want a horse to stop you say ‘Whoa, you slab-sided, knock-kneed giraffe!’ and he whoas.”

“He does?” asked Willard. “If I was a horse and you said that to me I’d run away and break your silly neck! Is that the way you talk to Julius Cæsar?”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter what you say to him,” replied Jerry carelessly, “because he doesn’t hear you. He’s sort of deaf, you know.”

“I hope he isn’t blind, too,” said Tom pessimistically as he guided The Ark around the corner into Main Street.

“He must be a peach!” said Spider witheringly. “How many legs has he got left, Jerry?”

“Four or five; I forget which. Say, Tom, go through Spruce Street so George Connors can see us, will you?”

“So that I can make a face at him,” responded Jerry promptly. “I told him the other day I could ride in your car any time I wanted to, and he said I couldn’t. I just want to show him I can.”

Fortune aided them that day. Only three passengers descended from the 11:34, of whom one walked to his destination, one was beguiled into the hack and the third, a commercial traveler well known to Tom and Willard, rode uptown in The Ark. Tom had qualms when the man passed over two checks, but investigation proved the baggage to consist of a couple of sample-cases which could be easily transported in the car. The 1:57 brought more fares but no trunks, while, as for the 2:06, that train fairly deluged the station with travelers and baggage. Luckily, however, Jerry and Spider had already assumed their duties. Mr. Lippit had announced himself quite willing to have Tom and Willard use Julius Cæsar for his keep. He was to remain in his own stable, Tom and Willard were to provide feed and bedding, Jerry was to continue his duties as stableman, and the wagon, when secured, was to be kept in the Lippits’ back-yard under the partial[222] protection of a big apple-tree. (The carriage-room already held Mr. Lippit’s side-bar buggy and a two-seated sleigh, and there was no possibility of squeezing the wagon in.) Finding the wagon was the next thing, and they went around to Saunders’ Carriage Works. Five second-hand express wagons of various sizes and styles were exhibited, but Mr. Saunders would not consider renting. In the end a rather small, light wagon was selected. In spite of the fact that the body had recently been painted over with a coat of dazzling green and the running-gear with an equally vivid vermillion, it was plain to be seen that the vehicle had been much used. Tom expressed a doubt as to its being strong enough to carry more than one trunk at a time, but the carriage man assured them that you could put a dozen trunks in it without hurting it. As a matter of fact, there wasn’t room for more than eight, no matter how you arranged them, but they let that pass. Mr. Saunders begged them to observe the springs, which, he declared, were as strong as they made them. They looked terribly slight to the boys, as did the axles and the wheels, but they were willing to be convinced; and, besides, the green and red paint certainly was stunning!

“Thirty dollars takes her,” said Mr. Saunders cheerfully, “and she’s a rare bargain at that figure, I can tell you.”

“Ninety dollars, and cheap at that! Look at the stuff in her. Nothing cheap about her—except the price!” And Mr. Saunders laughed heartily at his joke. There was a dismal silence for a minute, during which the boys walked around and around, viewing the wagon from every possible angle. Finally,

“Would you mind taking one of the wheels off?” asked Willard quietly. “I’d like to see the axles.”

“Certainly sure,” replied Mr. Saunders. But he seemed to lack enthusiasm, a fact quickly explained when, having returned with the wrench and jack, he slid a rear wheel off. The axle was pretty badly worn. Mr. Saunders made light of it, however. “’Course it’s worn a little,” he said. “I ain’t sayin’ she’s perfectly new, am I?”

“Let’s look at a front axle,” suggested Willard. In the end they saw them all, and there was a whispered council between them. Then,

“I guess you ain’t lookin’ for a wagon, boys; you want a wheel-barrow. Fifteen dollars wouldn’t hardly pay for the paint on her!”

“All right,” said Willard. “That’s all we’d be willing[224] to pay for that wagon. She won’t last more than six months, I guess.”

The carriage dealer became indignant, expatiated on the merits of the vehicle and ended by chopping off five dollars from the first price. Willard shook his head indifferently and offered eighteen. Mr. Saunders shrugged his shoulders and started away with his implements. Tom whispered to Willard to offer him twenty. Willard shook his head. “It’s his turn now,” he replied.

Having deposited the jack and wrench where they belonged, Mr. Saunders wandered back again. “I tell you what I’ll do, boys,” he said. “’Tain’t like you were strangers. You’re customers of mine. I’ll meet you more than half-way. Take her for twenty-two fifty.”

There was a moment of silence. Jerry was plainly anxious, for he had set his heart on embarking in the express business. Tom twitched Willard’s sleeve. “We’d better take it, hadn’t we?” he whispered.

“Tell you what we’ll do, Mr. Saunders,” announced Willard. “We’ll give you twenty dollars and not a cent more. That’s all it would be worth to us. What do you say?”

“All right, take her along. If all my customers were like you I’d be in the poorhouse long ago.”

After that there was just time to hurry to the station[225] in time for the 1:57 and so the rest was left to Jerry and Spider. “You don’t need to come down until we tell you,” instructed Tom, “because there may not be any trunks on these trains. But you get Julius Cæsar and haul the wagon over to your place. Then, if there’s any work to be done, we’ll stop and let you know.”

But Jerry didn’t intend to miss anything, and somehow he and Spider managed to hitch the horse to the wagon—luckily Mr. Lippit had a heavy harness which just suited—and reach the station just as the 2:06 pulled out. Jerry held the reins and Spider sat proudly beside him. Between the gayly-painted shafts ambled Julius Cæsar. Julius Cæsar had been a dappled gray at one time, but now he was almost white. He was short and ridiculously fat and had an absurd way of bobbing his head up and down as he went. Still, as far as appearances were concerned, Julius Cæsar was quite a success, and, hitched to the brilliantly-hued wagon, made a good showing as he ambled and bobbed his way to the platform. Pat Herron viewed the outfit with surprise and chagrin. Later on his gift of repartee returned to him, but for a few minutes he was plainly disconcerted. The Ark was quickly filled, Willard remaining behind to superintend the loading of the baggage, and chugged away uptown. Pat Herron, with a last lingering look at the[226] express wagon, followed after the automobile, and Willard, Jerry and Spider proudly presented the checks and loaded four big sample trunks. That was a triumphant journey uptown, Jerry guiding Julius Cæsar, Willard sitting beside him, and Spider perched on a trunk. The horse was evidently perturbed. Never before had he been hitched to such a vehicle, and, doubtless, never before had he been called on to pull so heavy a load. He resented it and showed it. Every few minutes he turned his head and looked reproachfully at Jerry. Jerry was heartless.

“Go on, you old antiquity,” Jerry would bawl, with a flick of the whip. “Think we’ve got all day to do this? Get ap, Cæsar!”

Whereupon Julius Cæsar, nodding a little more vehemently, would change from a walk to a shuffling trot and maintain the latter until, in his judgment, Jerry had forgotten his unseemly haste. It took them fully twenty minutes to reach the hotel, but the journey was filled with interest. Two small urchins tried to steal a ride and had to be dislodged with the whip by Spider; Teddy Thurston followed them for a block on Main Street and offered unsolicited advice on the subject of driving, and finally descended to sarcasm and rude jesting; Mr. Wells, emerging from the post-office, stared in alarmed surprise at the sight of his son personally conducting a load of trunks through the[227] principal thoroughfare, and, just as they came opposite the Court House, the fire engine and hose-reel swung around the corner of Pine Street and almost demolished Julius Cæsar and the new wagon. By some stroke of good luck Jerry managed to induce Julius Cæsar aside in the nick of time and the engine passed harmlessly by about two inches from their hubs! It was at that moment that Spider deserted. He explained afterwards that he had thought he was going to be killed and had jumped for safety, but the fact that he didn’t show up again until the fire in Coakley’s cigar store on Spruce Street had been put out led the others to believe he had preferred the attractions of the fire to the labor of unloading trunks.

So the new wagon entered upon a career of usefulness, proudly driven by Jerry, and protestingly pulled by Julius Cæsar, who, after months of idleness in a box-stall, infrequently interrupted by an evening jog through town in front of the side-bar buggy, could have held forth eloquently on the subject of cruelty to aged horses had he been able to talk boy-language! At the end of a week Tom and Willard found that, after paying for feed for the horse and a dollar and a half to Jerry for his services, they had profited to the extent of four dollars and twenty-five cents, at which rate, as Willard pointed out, the wagon would be paid for in a month!

Of course it wasn’t always plain sailing. There was the time when the new wagon broke down on River Street and its load had to be transferred to The Ark while it was hauled back to Saunders for a new wheel, Saunders, to his credit be it said, performing the repair without charge. And there was the time when Spider mutinied, refusing flatly to break his back lifting trunks without ever being permitted the fun of driving. That difficulty was smoothed over by Willard, who persuaded Jerry to allow Spider to do the driving every other trip. But on the whole the new arrangement worked very well and in the course of time Julius Cæsar became reconciled to his new duties and seemed almost to enjoy them. There were unnumbered verbal battles between Jerry and Spider, on one side, and Pat Herron and Johnny Green on the other. They supplied excitement and Jerry was very keen for them. He quite liked matching his wits against Pat’s and usually came off victorious, as on one occasion shortly after the new wagon began its duties, when Pat sat on the box of the hack, Johnny lolled on the seat of Connors’ wagon and Jerry and Spider drove magnificently up to await the 11:34.

“Is it so? Four hundred! Think o’ that now! Sure, he don’t look more’n a hundred and fifty!”

“I take such good care of him,” said Jerry sweetly. “Every now and then he gets currycombed, you know.” Jerry glanced interestedly at the horses hitched to the hack. “Ever try it, Pat, on those old cripples of yours?”

“’Tis a fine way he has of knobbin’ his head,” returned Pat, ignoring the aspersion. “By that you’ll be knowin’ he’s not asleep, likely?”

“N-no,” replied Jerry, “he always does that when he’s down here. Funny, isn’t it? Seems as if he was sort of tired. Bet you anything, Pat, if you went around the station he’d stop!”

“Is that so? Sure, he was born tired, that horse was. ’Tis a cryin’ shame to drive a beast like that. Let him be to die, why don’t ye?”

“Because if I did,” replied Jerry promptly, “you’d dig him out of his grave and hitch him to your hack. Is it so that you never take the harness off those nags, Pat, for fear they’ll fall to pieces?”

Whereupon Pat lost his temper and began to sputter, and before he could think of a sufficiently caustic response The Ark chugged up and caused a diversion.

There was another picnic about this time and the transportation company made the most of it. As,[230] however, it was a Sunday School affair, most of the participants were children and the automobile was in less demand than at the previous picnic. Tom and Willard both worked hard that day, for Jerry and Spider deserted and journeyed to Providence with the high school baseball team to witness the return match with Providence Preparatory, and Willard had to drive Julius Cæsar and transport baggage. To add to Tom’s troubles, a rear tire blew out half-way between town and the picnic grounds and he was forced to lie up by the roadside for half an hour while, with the doubtful assistance of two elderly ladies and a twelve-year-old boy, the old tube and shoe were taken off and new ones put on. Altogether that Saturday was a busy and trying day, and Tom was glad to crawl into bed at nine o’clock. Just as he was falling off into delicious slumber a low but insistent whistle sounded under his window and he stumbled sleepily over to the casement.

“I thought you’d like to know how the game came out. We lost, eleven to three.”

“Glad of it!” growled Tom as, bumping into a chair on the way, he again sought slumber.

“We were wondering, Jimmy,” said Tom, “if you knew of a fellow we could get to run the car for us this winter. You see, it’s getting pretty near time for school to open, and when I’m at school the only train I’ll be able to meet is the 6:05; except, of course, on Saturdays. And Willard’s going away to college pretty soon, you know. So we’ve either got to find someone to drive the car or give up the business.”

“It would be a shame to do that,” replied Jimmy Brennan reflectively. “I suppose you’re doing pretty well, aren’t you?”

Tom nodded. “We took in about a couple of hundred last month. And we’re doing better this month, so far. So, of course, neither Willard nor I want to give it up.”

“I should think not!” Jimmy tilted back against the window ledge in his chair and looked thoughtful. It was a Sunday afternoon and the boys had sought him[232] at his lodgings on the lower end of Pine Street. From the one window in the room they looked down across a number of spur tracks toward the long, many-windowed buildings of the paper mills. The house held the mingled odors of the Sunday dinner and factory smoke. One never got very far from the smoke in Audelsville, anyway. Jimmy’s room was small and rather bare, but everything about it looked clean and neat, while Jimmy himself, dressed in his Sunday clothes and without the usual smudges across his face, was quite a different looking Jimmy from the one they were used to seeing. Tom viewed him somewhat anxiously in the pause, while Willard’s gaze roved among the many photographs that were tucked into the edge of the mirror above the chest of drawers. At last,

“I don’t suppose I know anyone just now,” said Jimmy hesitatingly. “I should think maybe you’d find someone by advertising in the Providence papers.”

Willard’s gaze came away from the photographs. “Don’t suppose you’d want to do it, Jimmy?” he asked.

Jimmy didn’t seem surprised. Probably he had suspected that the boys had him in mind from the first. He shook his head. “I’d like the work, I guess, but I don’t suppose you could pay me enough to make it[233] worth my while, fellows. You see, I get three-eighty a day at the shop.”

Tom sighed. “We were afraid that would be it,” he said. “You see, the best we could pay would be——” he looked questioningly at Willard.

“Twenty a week,” supplied the latter. Tom stared. They had agreed the day before that they couldn’t afford to pay more than fifteen! Jimmy shot a look of surprise at Willard.

“That would be over eighty a month,” he said. “There wouldn’t be much in it for you fellows at that, would there?”

“No, not very much unless the business grew. But it would be better than losing it altogether, I guess. What we want to do some day, Jimmy, is get one of those motor trucks, you see, and handle baggage and freight. There’s a lot of money to be made that way.”

Jimmy grinned. “Say, Connors will be after you fellows with an axe the first thing you know,” he said.

“We’re not troubling about Connors. At first I sort of disliked the idea of interfering with his business, Jimmy, but he’s worked all sorts of games on us, like getting the police to refuse us a stand on Main Street and having Johnny Green try to smash our car——”

“Oh, maybe Connors didn’t get him to try that,”[234] said Jimmy. “I guess Green thought of that himself, he and Pat Herron. Pat’s a pretty tough old rascal.”

“Anyhow, Connors must look after himself. Besides, my father says he’s worth a couple of hundred thousand dollars right now; owns lots and lots of houses——”

“He certainly does. He owns this one we’re in now. Still—I don’t know; a couple of hundred thousand is a lot of money, Will.”

“Well, he’s rich, all right. It isn’t as though we were getting business away from a poor man, is it?”

“No, I don’t think you need to let that worry you,” Jimmy laughed. “You won’t send Connors to the poor house if you get twenty motor trucks.” He was silent a moment. “It’s a good scheme, too,” he went on presently. “You could keep a truck busy just hauling freight to the stores, I guess. And then there’s baggage besides.”

“Well, a new one would cost you about twelve hundred, I suppose. That would be rather a light one, too; say a one-ton truck. Big enough for you, though. You see, you haven’t any grades to consider, except now and then you might have to run up The Hill with a trunk. That’s a big thing in your favor. If you had a lot of steep grades between the station[235] and the town you’d have to have a more powerful truck. You might be able to pick up a second-hand one in good condition. Maybe you could get one for—well, say, six or seven hundred. I don’t know much about trucks. They weren’t using so many of them when I was in the business.”

“Well, I guess we can’t have one yet,” said Tom. “Maybe next Spring——”

“If we’re going to have one at all we ought to get it soon,” said Willard decisively. “First thing we know someone else will step in and grab the business. Connors himself might do it. It’s a wonder now he doesn’t put in a motor bus to the station.”

“Stablemen are the last folks on earth to monkey with motors,” said Jimmy. “But that isn’t saying some other fellow might not start in. I guess there won’t be much but motor trucks in a few years. Look what they can do compared with horses!”

“But how the dickens can we?” Tom demanded. “Gee, we haven’t paid our debts yet!”

“We’ll be pretty nearly square with everyone by the middle of this month,” returned Willard. “I’ll wait for the rest of my money. If we could get a couple of hundred dollars ahead I’d be in favor of paying it down on a motor truck and giving a note[236] for the balance. I suppose we could do that, couldn’t we, Jimmy?”

“Sure you could. Wait a minute, fellows. I want to think.” Jimmy turned around and looked for a while out the window. A switch engine backed leisurely along a spur and coupled up to a row of boxcars and then trundled them off out of sight. At last Jimmy faced the boys again. “How do you fellows feel about taking in a partner?” he asked quietly.

“Me. I’ll tell you. I’ve got a little money saved up. Been putting it away for two years. I used to think that when I had enough I’d go somewhere and start a repair shop; perhaps in Providence. Lately, though, I’ve sort of changed my mind about that. There’s been so many of them started up this last year that I guess the business is kind of overdone. I’ve got about seven hundred dollars put away. Now, suppose I put that into your business, fellows, and we buy a good truck and start in right? We’d have to have another driver, I suppose; anyway, we would while you fellows were at school; but I guess we could afford him. Of course I wouldn’t be getting as much as I get now; not for a while; but I’d be working for myself, don’t you see? Besides, after a while we ought to have a mighty good business. I[237] tell you, fellows, the motor has come to stay, and there’s no end to what we might do. There are more cars coming into town every month; two new ones came the other day; and we might sell gasoline and do repairs and deal in tires. We’d ought to have a place for our own cars, anyway, and why couldn’t we take others, too? There’s big money in the garage business! And as for selling supplies, why, say, you can make a hundred per cent. on some things!”

Willard’s surprise had turned to enthusiasm. Tom, more cautious, was thinking hard. It was Tom who answered.

“Say we make two hundred a month, though, Jimmy. That isn’t much when you divide it in three parts; I mean after you’ve paid expenses!”

“Two hundred!” jeered Jimmy. “We can make four hundred! We can make five hundred when we get the garage going! Now, look here. Say we hire a shed or an old stable somewhere near the center of town. We keep our own cars in there and we have tools for making our own repairs and we have a good big storage tank filled with gasoline for our own use and we have barrels of oil and grease. We wouldn’t have to pay much rent for a building like that. Say twenty a month. Now suppose we look after some more cars. We’ve got the space and what we get for storage is clear profit, don’t[238] you see? Then if the cars have to be washed and polished we get seventy-five cents or a dollar for it. When we sell the owners a gallon of gasoline we make, say, three cents. When we sell ’em cylinder oil or grease we make anywhere from twenty to fifty per cent. Then why couldn’t we keep tires? And all the other things you need? Say, there’s big money in it, fellows!”

“We’d have to have men to do the work, though,” objected Tom, trying to keep his enthusiasm down.

“Sure we would! We’d have to have a washer and a man to run one of the cars, and maybe we’d have to have a repair man to help me. But we wouldn’t get them unless we had the business, Tom.”

“Well, you fellows think it over,” said Jimmy. “It looks to me like a good thing for all of us, but you’d better consult your folks and talk it over. I don’t want to butt in on you unless you want me, but I’ve had some experience in the business, fellows, and I think you need a chap around that has had experience. But you fellows take your time and do as you like.”

“I think it would be fine all around,” declared Willard. “With that money of yours, Jimmy, we could get a motor truck right away and——”

“Jimmy said a truck would cost twelve hundred,” Tom objected. “If you put in seven hundred we’d still be five hundred short.”

“We’d get a second-hand one if we could find it,” said Jimmy. “And I guess we could. I’d run down to New York and snoop around there. We might have to pay six hundred and then put in fifty or so in repairs, but we’d have something worth while if we did.”

“Well, it’s mighty nice of you, Jimmy, to—to want to come in with us,” said Tom, “and I don’t know anyone I’d rather have for a partner. We—we’ll talk it over and let you know in—in a day or two. I’m sort of scared, to tell the truth. I didn’t think when I first wanted to buy that car from Saunders that I’d be thinking about motor-trucks and garages a couple of months later! It—it sounds sort of big, don’t it, Will?”

“It sounds mighty good!” replied Willard heartily. “Of course we’ll have to consider it, Jimmy, but as far as I’m concerned I’m for it!”

“Well, I guess I am, too,” said Tom, “but I suppose we’d better think it over a little. If we let you know Tuesday, Jimmy, would it be all right?”

“Sure! There’s no hurry as far as I’m concerned. Take all the time you want, fellows.”

The boys were rather silent as they emerged from[240] the boarding-house and took their way up Pine Street. There was plenty to talk about but they were far too excited. When they reached the corner of Cross Street Willard asked:

“Then say we walk through Linden Court. There—there’s an old stable there that might be just what we’d want in case we—in case we decided to do it!”

“Oh, shucks!” said Tom disparagingly. “That thing’s all falling to pieces. If we should decide to do it I know the very place!”

The boys got back to Tom’s house still full of the new venture, and Mr. Benton, just up from his Sunday afternoon nap, was taken into their confidence. When Tom had finished telling about it, “What do you think, sir?” he asked.

Mr. Benton considered a minute. “It sounds all right, son,” he answered at last. “It all comes to this. If you need more money to enlarge your business you’ve got to pay for it. Brennan will want a third of the business, as I understand it. Now the question is whether that’s paying too much for the sum of seven hundred dollars.”

“But we’re getting more than the money, sir,” said Willard. “We’re getting Jimmy. He knows all about automobiles, can run them and repair them, and is just about the best fellow we could get to go in with us. Don’t you think so, Tom?”

“Yes, I do. What father means is that if we’re satisfied to go on the way we are, why, that’s one[242] thing; if we want to—to expand, that’s another. In that case we’ve got to have money and help. So, then, could we get hold of seven hundred dollars without taking Jimmy in with us and giving up a third interest in the company?”

“We might save that much in the course of time,” said Willard doubtfully. “But what I’m afraid of is that by the time we’d scraped up that much money someone else might have stepped in and be doing what we want to do.”

“That’s so,” Mr. Benton agreed. “In fact——” he hesitated. “What is to keep Jimmy from doing it, boys?”

“Why—why, he wouldn’t do that!” exclaimed Willard. “He wouldn’t be mean enough!”

Mr. Benton smiled. “He’d have a perfect right to, I guess. It’s only what you did, isn’t it? You didn’t hesitate to run in opposition to Mr. Connors, did you?”

“That’s so,” said Tom thoughtfully. “I don’t see why Jimmy shouldn’t start in business for himself if he wants to.”

Willard frowned and moved uneasily in his chair. “Then—then let’s get him before he thinks of it!”

“He’s probably thought of it long ago,” Mr. Benton[243] laughed. “And I don’t say that he would start an opposition to you; I only say he might—and could without doing anything out of the way. Probably he wouldn’t. Someone else might, though. I guess if you really want to enlarge and want to risk it, now is the time, boys.”

“I hardly like to advise you, Tom. I don’t know much about automobiles or garages. If there’s really as much money to be made as Jimmy Brennan says there is, it sounds like a good thing. You’d better talk it over with your father, Will. See what he thinks.”

Tom went over to Willard’s after supper. Mr. Morris was at church when he arrived, but returned half an hour later, and the three sat out on the porch and discussed the matter thoroughly. Mr. Morris had had money and lost it and so had learned caution. But he favored the boys’ plan from the first.

“I’d say, take him up. I know Jimmy Brennan pretty well. He’s honest and he’s a hard worker and he’s smart. Of course there’s some risk. Maybe things won’t pan out quite as you think. But, after all, you’re not standing to lose very much. Just see that you don’t get too deeply in debt. Don’t borrow more than you can pay. If you decide to go into[244] it have a lawyer draw up the partnership agreement and have everything set down in black and white, so there’ll be no misunderstanding about anything.”

Half an hour later Willard was for hurrying down to Jimmy’s boarding-house and telling him that they had decided to take him into partnership, but Tom demurred. “Let’s sleep on it first,” he said. “To-morrow will be time enough.”

It rained pitchforks the next morning, but it would have taken more than a rain to dampen their spirits as Tom and Willard ran down to the machine shop after they had disposed of passengers from the first train. Willard, who had his license at last, drove the car, which, even with the top up, was not the dryest place in the world. They found Jimmy at his bench, very smudgy about the face and very black as to hands, and acquainted him with their decision. Jimmy was plainly pleased, and insisted on shaking hands to seal the bargain. After which he led them to the sink and laughed at their efforts to wash off the grease and carbon. It was agreed that they should call for him at the shop in the afternoon and take him to see the car barn, which both boys declared was just the place for the garage.

And, when he saw it, Jimmy agreed with them. It was a small one-storied brick building built some[245] ten years before to house the four cars which at that time comprised the rolling stock of the Audelsville Street Railway, later absorbed by the larger company which ran through from Providence to Graywich. The tracks outside had long since been removed. There were two big doors on the front and many windows on each side which admitted plenty of light. They could not get in at the doors, which were fastened, but as many of the window-panes had been broken it was an easy matter to reach in and throw back one of the catches. After that they scrambled through and dropped to the floor. The place smelt damp and musty, but Jimmy declared that after it had been opened up a while it would be all right. The floor, of two-inch planks, was in good condition, and the only problem confronting them was the boarding over of the pit which ran across the building and the removal of the four tracks. The pit held a truck on which the cars had been run and so moved from one track to another. The truck was as good as ever and slid easily away on its two rails when Jimmy gave it a shove with his foot, but they couldn’t see that it would be of any value to them. In one corner a small room was partitioned off which, as Willard pointed out, would serve admirably as an office. At the back of the building, against the brick wall, was piled an accumulation of old ties, while, nearby, a long bench,[246] surmounted by many shelves, indicated that that corner of the barn had been sacred to the painter.

“It might be a bit bigger,” mused Jimmy. “Still you could get eight or ten cars in here by crowding. We could move that bench to this side by the windows and do our repairs there. What’s at the back of this?”

Willard, leaning out the window by which they had entered, reported that there was nothing at the back except a fifteen or twenty-foot space of weeds.

“Then, some time, we could build out further if we wanted to,” said Jimmy. “Know what the rent is, Tom?”

“No, but I guess it isn’t much. The thing’s been empty as long as I can remember, pretty nearly. I guess we could get it cheap.”

“No, I shouldn’t think so. I know where there’s a lot of second-hand lumber we could get. What do you fellows think about the place?”

“I think it’s just the thing,” said Tom, with a suggestion of pride for having discovered it. “It’s only about a hundred feet from Main Street and just[247] a few blocks from the center of the town. And—and it’s fairly fire-proof, I suppose.”

“Yes,” agreed Jimmy, “there isn’t much to burn here. We’d have to have insurance, though. What’s your idea of it, Will?”

“I think it’s dandy! Why, we couldn’t build a place much better! Just floor over that hole there, put some glass in the windows and there you are!”

“Seems as if it would do pretty well,” agreed Jimmy. “But we’d better look around a little before we decide. No harm in finding out how much rent they want, though. Who has the letting of it?”

“Collins, in the City Bank Building,” said Tom. “Let’s go and see him now.”

Outside again, Jimmy studied the situation. On each side there was a vacant space, a matter of twenty-five feet or so toward Main Street and four times that distance on the other side. At the rear the nearest building, a dwelling house, was a good sixty feet away. “That’s a good thing, too,” Jimmy explained, “because folks won’t kick about noise and smell. And here’s something else that suits us, fellows. We’ve got plenty of room between the sidewalk and the building to stand three or four cars in. I don’t see why they set the barn back so far, but they did, and it helps us if we take it. I guess there’s no need of us all going to see the agent. Suppose I attend to it?[248] Maybe I could beat him down better than you fellows.”

That was agreed to and they piled into The Ark again and went back on Main Street to the building in which the real estate man had his office. There Jimmy got out and Tom and Willard waited impatiently. He was gone some time, but when he came out again he winked solemnly as he climbed into the car.

“It’s a cinch,” he said. “He wanted twenty a month, but I told him we’d take a three-year lease of it at fifteen if he’d fix the floor for us and patch up the windows. He said he’d confer with the owners and let me know to-morrow. Wanted to know what I was going to use it for and looked as though he thought I was crazy when I told him. Maybe the railway company won’t agree to fix it up for us, but I’ll bet we can get it for fifteen a month; and that’s dirt-cheap!”

“If they won’t fix it up for us,” continued Jimmy, “I’ll make him knock off a month’s rent toward the cost of doing it ourselves. He will do it, too; I could see he was tickled to death at the chance of renting it. You see, there aren’t many things you could use[249] that building for. It might do for a stable or a small factory; or a garage; and that’s about all. And he knows it. If we’ve got time, fellows, let’s run around a little and see if there’s anything that looks better.”

There wasn’t, however. A stable at the other end of the town interested them for a while, but investigation showed that it would need too many repairs. And so when, the next afternoon, Jimmy met them with the tidings that they could have the car-barn at their own terms, the matter was settled then and there.

“I told him I’d be around in the morning to close it up,” said Jimmy. “I guess there won’t be any one else after it, but it doesn’t pay to take chances. Our rent won’t begin until the first of the month and we’ll have nearly a couple of weeks to fix it up. Sort of looks, doesn’t it, as though luck was with us?”

The next morning, however, when Willard found a note from Mr. Connors in the mail he wasn’t so sure that luck was with them. He hurried over to Tom’s and got there just as The Ark was being backed from the garage. Tom took the note and read it aloud:

“Somehow,” said Willard, “I don’t believe he wants to see us about those damages.”

Willard shook his head. “I don’t know why I don’t, but I just don’t, Tom. Anyway, let’s go and see him this morning. If he’s going to make more trouble for us let’s find it out.”

“All right, we’ll go after the first train. If you’ve got anything disagreeable to do it’s best to do it right off and get it off your mind. I hope he chokes, though!”

An hour or so later they rode around to Connors’ stable, back of the hotel, on Ash Street, and found Mr. Connors in the tiny office tucked in a front corner of the big red building. He was a small, wiry man of about fifty, with a short and stubby yellow mustache, gimlet eyes and red cheeks. His attire proclaimed the horseman; a checked suit of a somewhat loud style, a fancy vest, and a good-sized diamond horse-shoe in the scarlet tie. A gold chain with unusually large links crossed his waistcoat and was hung with several charms. In size the liveryman was not much larger than Willard, but for all of that there was something about him that commanded instant respect. Willard introduced himself and Tom and Mr. Connors smiled very nicely. When he smiled his sharp gray eyes twinkled and one sort of wanted to like him!

“I’d know you from the resemblance you have to[252] your father,” he told Tom. “Sure, him and me is great pals.” (Tom was not aware of the fact, but he didn’t question the assertion.) “Well, it’s like this, boys; I paid out two dollars and twenty-five cents on that wagon—here’s the bill to look at—and I guess you’ll call that getting off fairly easy.”

“That’s all right,” said Willard calmly, “but we’ve got a bigger bill against you, Mr. Connors. If you want to pay the difference between our bill and yours, all right. We can settle up now as well as any time.”

Mr. Connors smiled leniently. “You’re not asking me to pay for what was your own fault, are you?” he asked. “Sure, ’twas this young man ran his automobile into my wagon. Maybe ’twas unintentional; like as not ’twas just an accident, do you mind; but it played hob with the wagon.”

“I didn’t run the car into your wagon,” retorted Tom warmly. “I couldn’t have because I’d stopped my engine. This man of yours, Green, drove up in front of our car and then backed against it twice and broke one of our lamps and——”

Mr. Connors shook his head gently. “That ain’t the way I got it, Benton. I had it straight from Pat Herron and Green himself, mind you. They say you ran your car——”

“Sure, I know little about automobiles, but what[253] little I know I don’t like,” responded Mr. Connors, untroubledly. “They’re queer, unreasonable contrivances, say the least, and likely to do most anything, I’m thinking. Was there anyone saw it?”

“There was no one there but your men and myself,” answered Tom. “And of course they’d swear it was my fault!”

“Don’t be calling my men liars,” cautioned the liveryman quietly. “It butters no parsnips, do you mind, to call names. I’d as soon believe them as you. No offense, mind you.”

“Well, anyway, it wasn’t my fault in the least,” said Tom warmly, “and we have no intention of paying that bill, Mr. Connors.”

Mr. Connors sighed and shook his head again. “’Tain’t the right spirit,” he mourned.

“Besides,” continued Tom, getting warmed up, “I’m pretty sure you put Green up to it! If you did it’s a fine thing to ask us to pay you damages, isn’t it?”

Mr. Connors’ eyes flashed. “Me? I told Johnny to back into your wagon? I did nothing of the sort! What kind of a blackguard do you take me for? What would I be telling him to do that for?”

“Well, we know very well that you fixed it so we couldn’t get a stand on Main Street,” replied Tom.

“Sure I did! And what for not? That’s business, ain’t it? Why would I be inviting you to step in and[254] take my business away from me? And I’d have kept you away from the station if I could. But I’m not a man to do dirty, underhand tricks like you say! And you can put that in your pipe and smoke it, young man!”

But Willard interposed. “If you didn’t put Green up to it, Mr. Connors, we’re glad to know it. But, whether you did or didn’t, it’s a fact that he deliberately backed into our car with the idea of hurting it. And all the explanations in the world won’t get around that!”

Mr. Connors seemed impressed. He turned his head toward the door which stood open into the carriage room. “Is Johnny there?” he shouted.

“That’s too bad. If he was here we’d have him in and hear his story of it.” Mr. Connors frowned and played with his watch-charms. Then his face cleared and he smiled genially again. “Sure,” he said, “what’s the use quarreling about a couple of dollars, boys? Maybe you have it right, after all, or maybe it was no more your fault than Johnny’s. A couple of dollars won’t break me nor you. Say we call it quits and talk no more about it?” And Mr. Connors smiled so kindly that Willard began to feel ashamed. Tom, however, was made of sterner stuff.

“Never mind,” interrupted Willard. “If Mr. Connors is willing to call it square we are, I guess.”

“That’s the way, boys,” said the liveryman heartily. “’Tis settled then, and no hard feelings on either side. Sure, when gentlemen have anything between them there’s nothing like getting together and talking it over, eh? Fair and square, boys; that’s my motto!”

“Yes, sir,” replied Willard, preparing to get up from the rickety wooden chair that had been assigned to him. But Mr. Connors displayed no evidence that he considered the interview at an end. Instead,

“The business, you mean?” asked Willard. “Yes, sir, we’re doing very well indeed.”

“That’s good. And now it’s getting along toward school time again, eh? Too bad you’ve got to give it up, I say!”

“We—we’re not going to give it up!” exclaimed Tom. “We’re going to keep right on with it!”

“Are you now? That’s fine, ain’t it? But what’ll you be doing with that automobile when the snow’s a foot or so deep on the streets?”

“We’ll put chains on the wheels and get along all right,” answered Tom triumphantly.

“Is it so? They’re great things, automobiles, ain’t they? But I heard you were going back to school and your friend here was going to college. I forget who told me that. I think, maybe though, it was my son George.”

“We are, sir,” responded Willard, “but we’re going to have someone else run the car for us. It’s too good a business to give up.”

“Right you are! But——” and Mr. Connors shook his head doubtfully—“’tain’t the same when you have someone else do it for you. How are you going to know if you get all the money that’s coming to you? I’ve been bossing men all my life, nearly, and I know there ain’t one man in ten that’ll do the work the way you’d do it yourself; to say nothing of being honest with money. ’Twon’t work, boys, ’twon’t work! And that reminds me of something that’s been sort of buzzing around in my head of late. You fellows have done pretty well for a couple of months, and I guess you’ve made a little money, probably as much as you hoped you’d make, eh? But now it’s getting where you can’t look after the business yourself and where you’ll be in a lot of trouble one way and another. Why ain’t this a good time to sell out for a tidy figure and stay ahead of the game, eh?”

“Sell out?” murmured Willard. “I don’t think we’d care to do that, sir.”

“Sure you would—if you got enough money,” replied the other jovially. “Anybody would. Now suppose I make you an offer for your automobile and your good will, do you mind, you signing an agreement not to engage in the business again. Suppose I offer you—offer you—well, say I offer you five hundred dollars, eh? That’s worth considering, ain’t it?”

“Not clear, you don’t,” was the reply. “Not after paying for gasoline and repairs and all. But supposing you do, Benton, how long is it going to keep up? When you’re paying another fellow to run your bus for you how much are you going to make? Besides, I’ve been thinking it might be a good plan to put on an automobile myself. They say they’re considerably cheaper than horses.”

“I dare say there’d be room for both of us,” replied Willard smoothly. “I don’t think we care to sell out, Mr. Connors.”

“Don’t, eh? That means I ain’t offered enough, I guess. Well, now, just to show that I’m no haggler, boys, I’ll double that figure. I’ll pay you an even thousand! What do you say now? I guess that’s some offer, ain’t it? All I’m getting is a second-hand automobile that didn’t cost more’n a couple of hundred, I suppose.”

Mr. Connors seemed surprised and pained. “Well, I’m sorry. You’ll never get as good an offer again. And if you think I’ll raise the figure you’re away off, boys. That’s my last word. A thousand or nothing. Better think it over. There’s no hurry. A week from now will do. Think it over, boys.”

“We don’t need to,” responded Willard firmly. “Tom’s right. We haven’t any idea of selling out, sir.”

Mr. Connors sighed and frowned. “I’m sorry for you,” he said. “I’ll tell you frankly, boys, that Bill Connors isn’t the sort to sit down and see someone take his business away from him. I’ve been easy with you so far but that ain’t saying I’m going to keep on standing around and getting kicked. No, sir! I’ll give you a week to think it over. After that—look out for squalls, boys!”

“We will,” said Tom shortly. “We’ve weathered quite a few of your squalls already and I guess we can get through some more. I guess we’ll be going now.”

“All right. I’m obliged to you for calling.” Mr. Connors was all affability again. “Better think that over, though. A thousand dollars, do you mind; and that’s a good deal of money for a couple of youngsters like you to make. Think it over and let me know by this day week, boys. Good day to you!”

“Good morning, sir,” murmured Willard. Tom strode out silently and said nothing until they were in the car. Then,

“So that was what he wanted to see us about,” he muttered. “You were right, Will.”

“Do you really think he will put on an auto himself?” asked Willard uneasily.

“No, I don’t. He was bluffing. If he meant to do that he wouldn’t bother with buying us out, I guess.”

“I suppose,” said Willard after a moment’s thought, “that a thousand is a pretty good offer. I wonder if we’d do better to take it.”

“I wouldn’t take it from him if it was two thousand!” declared Tom vindictively. “Anybody who’s done the mean things he’s done——”

“He said he didn’t put Johnny Green up to that, and I sort of believe him, Tom.”

“Maybe he didn’t,” grumbled the other, “but he fixed it so we couldn’t get a stand on Main Street, didn’t he? Well, that’s enough. If he wants to make trouble, let him! But there’s one thing we’ve got to do in a hurry, and that is buy that truck and get started before he finds out about it. I don’t know just what he could do, but I’ll bet he’d do it! Let’s see Jimmy as soon as we can and hear what he thinks.”

And when Jimmy had heard what they had to tell him he said just one word, and that was “Hustle!”

He gave notice to his employers that he was leaving them on the 20th of the month and then demanded two days off, or, more strictly, a day and a half, since it was Friday when he scurried off to New York and half of Saturday was his anyhow. Tom and Willard took him down to the 9:01, which would enable him to reach New York at about two in the afternoon, and all the way to the station and while they waited for the express they discussed Jimmy’s mission excitedly. It was agreed that he was to purchase a used truck if possible, but if he did not find any second-hand ones that suited him he was to negotiate for a new one on the best terms obtainable and the firm would pay by installments the difference between the seven hundred dollars which Jimmy bore away with him in the shape of a New York draft and the price of the car. Meanwhile the street railway company, as good as their word, had started in on the[261] old barn and the gap in the floor was being bridged expeditiously with nice new, clean-smelling pine. The day after they closed the deal with the real estate agent Tom, Willard, Jimmy and Mr. Benton had gone to Lawyer Gilbraith’s office and an imposing document had been drawn up. By the terms of the new agreement each of the three partners was to share equally, while the name of the firm was changed to the City Transfer and Garage Company.

It was during Jimmy’s absence that the boys held their second business meeting and that Willard announced the earnings for the last month. The station work had brought in $189 and rentals had added $74.50, a total of $263.50. This represented an increase of $75.75 over the business of the preceding month. Expenses had been $54.70, or $1.32 less than for the previous period. The month’s profit was $208.80.

“Gee!” exclaimed Tom awedly. “If we can make that much now what will we do when we get the truck?”

“We ought to add a third more, I think,” said Willard. “But there’s one thing you must remember, and that is that the novelty of taking automobile rides seems to be wearing off. We haven’t done much the past ten days. Besides, when it gets cold folks won’t want to run around the country at night.”

“That’s so, but there’ll be the garage business, and Jimmy seems to think there’ll be more money in that than in the transfer part of the thing. Anyhow, we haven’t any kick coming, I guess! Two hundred and eight dollars! Gee!”

Tom waved a hand carelessly. “You may have that,” he said magnificently. “What’s eighty cents to a millionaire?”

The next day Summer took her departure. You could feel the difference the moment you stuck a foot out of bed in the morning. There was a brisk, nippy west wind blowing from across the river, a good-natured and rather boisterous wind that whipped the leaves from the trees along the shaded streets, made you clap your hand to your yellowed straw hat and seemed to cry: “Well, here we are again! Hello, folks! Shake hands with my friend, Mr. Autumn!” And more than the sudden zest in the air told of Fall. For when Tom chugged through Connecticut Avenue on his way down town to collect passengers for the first train a boy hailed him from a front porch and then joined him as he stopped The Ark. It was Billy Younger.

“Say, Tom,” he announced, “George asked me to see you and find out why you haven’t been out for[263] practice. I told him I guessed you were too busy running your auto and he said if you didn’t show up pretty soon he didn’t want you.”

“Practice?” repeated Tom vacantly. “What kind—Oh, by Jove! I forgot all about football, Billy! How long have you been at it?”

“Since Monday. We’re getting along pretty well, too. We play Finley Falls a week from to-day. You don’t want to miss that. We’re going to smear ’em, Tom, this year. Be out this afternoon?”

“Why—yes, I guess so. Three o’clock, is it? Nobody said anything to me about it and I’ve been so busy I didn’t think. It doesn’t seem possible it can be football time already!”

“’Tis, though. And it’s mighty near school time, too, worse luck! Only eight days more vacation. I guess you’re pretty sure of right tackle this year, Tom. Lyman’s too light for it and Berger’s a regular dub. We’re going to have a dandy team, all right, but we need you, you know.”

Tom nodded. “I’ll be out to-day if I possibly can. Monday, anyway. Tell Connors, will you?”

Billy shrugged his shoulders. “All right, but if you take my advice you’ll show up to-day. George is sort of huffy with you, it looks like. Had a row, you two?”

“N-no,” Tom hesitated. “No, we haven’t had any[264] row. I suppose George Connors is sort of peeved with Willard and me because we started this automobile business and cut in on his dad.”

Billy whistled. “So that’s it? I wondered. He kind of acts as though he wanted to keep you off the team. I don’t suppose the fellows would stand for it, though. Still, George is captain and—well, if I were you I’d try my level best to get out to-day. So long. How’s The Ark running?”

Tom went on thoughtfully. He was fond of football and was a good player, and he wondered whether George Connors was going to hold his grudge against him. If he did he could make it pretty hard sledding. Tom had fairly earned the position of right tackle last season, and he wanted to play it, but if Captain Connors was going to dislike him there wouldn’t be much fun for him on the gridiron. Well, he’d go out for practice to-day anyhow. And he could soon tell how the land lay.

At noon Willard appeared breathlessly with a telegram from Jimmy. A telegram was a good deal of an event in the lives of the boys and this one worked them up to a high pitch of excitement. The message had been sent from New York at eleven o’clock and said: “Back on eight-forty to-night. Got it. Meet me at station.”

The rest of the day the boys speculated as to what “it” was. “That’s the worst of telegrams,” complained Willard. “They never tell you anything. They just get your curiosity up and stop short. Why the dickens didn’t he tell us something about it?”

“What’s that got to do with it? Couldn’t he have spent ten cents more and told us whether it was a new one or an old one and how much he paid for it?”

“No, not for ten cents, I guess,” laughed Tom. “Anyway, we’ll know all about it this evening.”

They went out to the field in The Ark in the afternoon, Tom, in a faded and worn suit of football togs, to join practice, and Willard to look on. George Connors’ greeting of the delinquent member of the squad was decidedly ungracious.

“Why didn’t you stay away until Thanksgiving, Benton?” he demanded sarcastically. “I suppose you think you’re so good you don’t have to practice, eh? I don’t know as we need you very much now. We’ve been at it a week.”

“Nobody said anything to me about practice,” replied Tom quietly. “If you’d sent me word I’d been out.”

“Maybe you’d have liked me to come and fetch you[266] in a carriage,” sneered Connors. “You’re in the second squad to-day, Benton.”

All during practice and the short scrimmage that followed Tom was aware of the captain’s scowling regard. In the ten-minute period of play Tom messed up his opponent in the line, and, in spite of being out of condition, played a hard game. But Connors was not to be placated and Tom left the field with the knowledge that Connors had it in for him and meant, if possible, to keep him out of the first squad. He confided his fears to Willard, but if he expected sympathy he was disappointed, for Willard lent only perfunctory attention and was too full of the approaching arrival of Jimmy to take much interest in his chum’s predicament.

Jimmy arrived on time and was conveyed to his boarding-house in the car. During the ride and subsequently, when the three were seated about the little bedroom upstairs, he reported the result of his journey.

“It was easy, fellows,” said Jimmy. “Say, there are more automobiles in one block in New York than you ever dreamed of! And you can buy ’em at all prices, too. I went right uptown yesterday when I got in and found a friend of mine who’s demonstrator for a big company on Broadway and he told me just where to go. I looked over five or six cars[267] yesterday and then went back this morning and had ’em demonstrated. And by ten o’clock I’d bought one!”

“A peach! They call it a light delivery truck. It’s got a body big enough to hold twenty trunks, I guess, and it’ll haul a ton. It’s got a two-cylinder engine, twenty-six horsepower; planetary transmission; brakes on the rear hubs. It’s a Phelps. Made in Springfield, Massachusetts, which is good in case we have to send for new parts; won’t take long to get ’em; see? It has solid tires instead of pneumatic, which is saving. There’s no top, but we can have a good big rubber tarpaulin to pull over the load. There’s a small buggy top over the seat, though, and an apron that folds away underneath it. It’s painted green and yellow and is some swell little old truck, believe me, fellows!”

“Sure; run less than six hundred miles and in A1 condition. I pretty near had it to pieces, fellows, and there isn’t a worn part about it. It’s just been painted up fresh and it looks as good as new. And I don’t know but what I’d just as soon have it as a new one, for it’s got its kinks worn off.”

“Nothing like it! Five hundred and eighty-five dollars, fellows, and as pretty as a picture and runs like a breeze! Can you beat that?”

They couldn’t, and said so over and over. “It cost eleven hundred new,” Jimmy went on. “It was bought by a grocery firm over in Brooklyn, the fellow told me, and they ran it around for about three months and then traded it in for a bigger car. Got a three-ton truck instead. It was a rare bargain, and that’s all there is about it! And it will be along about the middle of the week. They agreed to put it on the cars Monday. I told ’em if it wasn’t here by Thursday we’d ship it back on ’em. I just want to see Pat Herron’s eyes when he gets his first squint at it!”

“We do. It’ll be only about fifteen dollars, they said. And we’ll still have a hundred of that seven hundred left. How’s the garage coming on, Tom?”

“Fine. They’ve got the old tracks all up and the carpenter said he’d have the new flooring finished by to-night. By the way, they were going to lug off[269] that truck thing and I told them they couldn’t do it until they’d talked with you.”

“That’s right. I guess we rented that with the building and we might as well keep it. I don’t know as it will be any good to us, but it might be. Have they done any glazing yet?”

“Glazing? Oh, the windows! No, not yet. I guess they’ll start on that Monday. We’ll have to have a telephone, won’t we?”

“Yes. And electric light and power, too. I’ll see about that the first thing Monday. We’ve got to get busy next week. What are you going to do with that horse and wagon, fellows?”

“Well, the horse isn’t ours, you know. I suppose Saunders would give us something for the wagon.”

“Better hold on to it, I guess,” said Jimmy thoughtfully. “There might come a time when we’d need it. If this auto truck got out of whack we’d be glad of something to haul baggage in. Probably we could find a horse somewhere. We’ll stow the wagon in a corner of the garage for the present. There’s another thing, too. Oughtn’t we to advertise pretty soon and say that we are ready to do business? Quinby, the grocer, has just ordered a delivery auto and I told him about the garage the other day and he was mighty tickled. He was going to keep it with Connors, but when I told him we’d have facilities for making repairs[270] and keeping it washed and all, you know, he said right off he’d keep it with us. So there’s a starter!”

“I suppose an advertisement in the News-Patriot would be a good idea,” said Tom. “You know, anyhow, Will, we promised Spider we’d put an ad in the paper the time he had his father publish that article about us!”

“Yes, we could do that,” Willard agreed. “And we could have some cards printed and distributed around town, too. How about a sign for the garage, Jimmy?”

“We’ll cover it with signs,” replied Jimmy. “And we’ll get a painter to put ‘C. T. & G. Co.’ on the car and the truck. We’ll do it right, fellows. Well, I must turn in. I didn’t get much sleep last night. Went to a theater and saw a peach of a show; ‘The Brigand’s Bride,’ it was called. Then I dreamed of it all night! I’ll meet you to-morrow at four-thirty at the garage, fellows. Good night.” Jimmy followed them to the head of the stairs. “Say, what’s that noise down there?” he asked suddenly. “Sounds as though you’d left your engine running, Tom!”

“Great Scott!” Tom bounded down the stairs three steps at a time and disappeared through the front door, leaving Jimmy and Willard chuckling on the landing.

“Another gallon of gas gone!” laughed Willard. “I guess Tom was too excited to remember to turn off his switch. Good night, Jimmy. You certainly did finely for us!”

“Just wait till you see it!” chuckled Jimmy. “She’s some little auto, believe me, Will!”

Jimmy had predicted a busy week, and Jimmy was right. Things began to hum on Monday. Telephone and electric light connections were ordered, a visit was made to the printer and a card written to be inserted three times a week in the News-Patriot. All these things Jimmy engineered with his partners’ assistance between four-thirty and six o’clock. On Tuesday the car-barn was ready for occupancy, and, although their lease did not begin until the first of the month, they were at liberty to move in whenever they wished, and they “wished right away,” as Tom put it. So Tuesday afternoon, when The Ark had delivered its last passenger from the 1:57 and 2:06 trains, it was driven to Oak Street, and, with a loud tooting of the horn, rolled through the first of the two wide doors into the garage. It was quite a triumphal entry and the boys regretted that Jimmy was not there to witness it. The pit was a thing of the past, its former location indicated by a[273] six-foot wide strip of new planking that gleamed across the floor like a path of sunlight. The old ties which had littered a corner were piled in the yard at one side, the owners being glad enough to escape the labor of carting them away.

The keeping of the old ties and the truck which had run across the pit exhibited a trait in Jimmy which the boys soon discovered to be at once amusing and canny. Jimmy never let anything get away from him if there was space to store it, and ultimately, perhaps to-morrow or perhaps two years hence, he found a use for it. Thus, the old ties were eventually utilized in many ways; cut into short lengths, they became blocks to hold up front or rear axles when wheels had been removed; split and chopped into kindlings they started the fires in the small forge which Jimmy set up in the back yard the following spring. As for the four-wheeled truck, it soon became one of the handiest features of the garage. The flanged wheels were taken off and small wheels with wide, flat treads were substituted. The two lengths of rail on top were removed and a platform was built. Then they had a truck that could be pushed easily about the floor and that would hold almost any weight that could be placed upon it. Tom called it “Jimmy’s tender.” The rails pulled up from the floor and left to rust outside the barn eventually formed the framework of an improvised crane[274] by which the body of an automobile under repair could be lifted from the chassis, or, for that matter, by which the whole car could be slung off the floor. Jimmy even hoarded away the old spikes that had held the rails in place, and the boys declared laughingly that he could take one of those spikes, heat it in the forge, hammer it on the anvil and fashion it on the lathe into anything from a rivet to a driving rod!

Later that Tuesday afternoon Jimmy appeared with a bag of tools and set to work moving the bench from the back wall to a location under the side windows. After that he hammered and sawed about in the little box-like enclosure that was to serve as the office and soon had a sloping shelf erected for a desk and a row of narrow shelves above it to hold books and paper and such things. He came back after supper that evening and worked until late by the light of a kerosene lantern, while Tom and Willard alternately lent a hand or sat on the truck in the flickering shadows and looked on admiringly. The telephone was put in Wednesday morning and the electric light connections were made that afternoon. Meanwhile a sign-painter, a personal friend of Jimmy’s, was covering ten square feet of the side of the building toward Main Street with a huge sign in black letters on a white ground which read:

CITY GARAGE
AUTOMOBILES STORED AND REPAIRED
GASOLINE—OILS—TIRES—SUPPLIES
OFFICE OF THE CITY TRANSFER AND
GARAGE COMPANY

Later a similar inscription appeared on the front of the building, and one by one brightly colored signs of wood or metal began to flaunt themselves, advertising the merit of Somebody’s Motor Oils or Somebody Else’s Tires. But that was a good deal later. Almost every day now Jimmy announced or exhibited the purchase of some necessary tool or implement, and the prices at which he obtained things—many of them second-hand but in good condition—amazed his partners. If Jimmy wanted a certain kind of wrench he knew just where to go and bargain for it and ultimately get it at his own price. Meanwhile the mail delivered all sorts of letters and circulars to the firm. It was remarkable how quickly news of the formation of the new concern reached the dealers in automobile supplies. And it seemed still more remarkable how eager those same dealers were to do business. In the evenings the three members of the firm sat in the little office—they had only to turn a switch now to flood the place with light—and discussed the brands of oils or greases or tires to be handled by them.

“These Wells-Knight people offer a whole lot bigger[276] discount than the Octagon folks,” Willard would say. “Couldn’t we make more if we handled their goods, Jimmy?”

“We’ll take some of their stuff,” Jimmy would reply, “but the Octagon factory makes better tires, Will. It doesn’t pay to make too much profit on a thing because it’s a fair bet the thing isn’t really good, and we don’t want to sell a poor tire to a man and lose his trade when we can sell him a good tire and have him come back again. Same way with oils and greases and soaps. There are fifty firms putting those things on the market, I guess, and it would take Solomon to know which ones are the best, but at least we can steer away from those we know to be too cheap to be good. I guess, take it by and large, we’d better deal with the Red A folks on oils. They don’t offer as big a discount as a lot of others, but everyone knows their goods; they’ve been making them for six years or so, and that means something.”

By the end of that week salesmen were popping in on them at all hours, salesmen with everything from a new kind of tire-pump to turn-tables and gasoline tanks. One man even wanted to take their order for a vacuum cleaner. He told them they would find it extremely handy for getting the dust out of automobile upholstery. They were offered the local agency for all sorts of things from spark-plugs to[277] wind-shields. And the offers didn’t stop at wind-shields, either, for there came a letter one day that caused Jimmy to snap his fingers triumphantly and exclaim: “Jumping Jupiter, fellows, why didn’t I think of that myself?” The letter proved to be from a well-known firm of automobile manufacturers in the middle West and it offered them the Audelsville agency for their cars. When the boys learned of the commission to be made on the sale of one automobile they opened their eyes very wide.

“Let’s do it!” exclaimed Tom. “Why, if we could sell three or four of those cars a year we wouldn’t have to do anything else!”

“You bet we’ll do it!” replied Jimmy emphatically. “But we won’t handle this line. We’ll find a car that sells at about a thousand dollars——”

“Not on one sale, but the point is that you can sell three cheap cars to one high-priced one, and the more cars we can sell the more tires we can sell, and the more gasoline and oil and everything else—including repairs! Why the dickens I didn’t think of taking an agency I don’t see!”

“There’s a fellow right over here on Linden Street who is an agent,” said Willard, “but I don’t believe he does much.”

“Gooch?” Jimmy shrugged his shoulders expressively. “He hasn’t enough life in him to sell a gold dollar for fifty cents! Besides, look at the car he handles; nobody wants a Glynn car nowadays; it’s too heavy. If we can get the agency for a car like the Day-Morton or Rugby, a car that costs about six hundred for the runabout and nine or ten hundred for a five-passenger touring model, we can sell three or four a year now and a lot more later.”

On Thursday the new motor truck arrived. Jimmy’s praise of it had not been a whit too enthusiastic. To look at, it was a thing of beauty indeed, at least from the point of view of its new owners, and as for traveling—well, Tom had to own by the time they had completed a triumphal journey up Main Street to the garage that, for power and smoothness, it could run circles around The Ark! Tom viewed the large wheels with solid tires doubtfully, but later he discovered the wisdom of Jimmy’s choice, for there were no blow-outs to bother with. Naturally the car didn’t glide quite as smoothly over the city cobblestones as would a vehicle with pneumatic tires, but then one didn’t use the truck for pleasure riding. After it was in the garage Jimmy took up the floor-boards and exhibited and explained the engine, which was tucked away under the front of the car. The square radiator, which breasted the dash, held the maker’s name in brass letters and Tom[280] and Willard howled with anguish when Jimmy suggested removing it to save the trouble of keeping it polished. The body was large enough to hold eight trunks without piling them, while, if one cared to, one could probably get on at least twenty. The dark green and pale yellow looked very well together, and the little black leather top over the seat glistened bravely. They were all delighted with it, and, although Jimmy was aching to go over engine and wiring to make certain that all was as it should be, Tom and Willard insisted on trying it out again; which explains why a brand new green and yellow express wagon, without a horse to draw it, ran around Audelsville for three-quarters of an hour that Thursday evening, creating much interest in beholders!

Yes, that was certainly a busy week; so busy, in fact, that Tom got out to football practice but two afternoons, Wednesday and Friday. On Wednesday George Connors berated him soundly, Tom taking the scolding meekly enough, since he knew he deserved it. But on Friday the captain had even more to say, and Tom, while acknowledging to himself that George Connors had plenty of excuse for complaint, was at last goaded to anger.

“That will be about all, Connors,” he said at last. “I’m sorry I haven’t been out to practice more, but I’ve been busy——”

“Yes, stealing business from my father,” sneered Connors. “It’s a wonder you couldn’t find a decent way to make money, Benton.”

“Anyhow, I guess you don’t want me on the team and I guess I don’t want to be on it, so——”

“You bet I don’t want you! I want fellows who will work and take an interest. Shirkers——”

“You know very well, Connors, that even if I haven’t done much practicing I could go in to-morrow and play as well as any fellow here, including you,” said Tom hotly. “You’ve got it in for me because I’ve taken some of your father’s business away from him. You don’t care whether I can play football or not. You want to get rid of me. That’s all right. You’ll do it. I’m out of it.”

“And you wouldn’t get me if you did!” And Tom stalked angrily away and footed it back to town again feeling very badly used until his common sense returned to him and showed him that, while Connors might have been needlessly insulting, he had got not much more than he deserved.

He didn’t return to the garage, for Willard, who, with Jimmy, was washing The Ark with the new overhead washer that had just been installed, had agreed to meet the 6:05 train. Instead he went right home,[282] and, to his surprise, found his father, who usually did not return until just before supper time, sitting on the porch with a newspaper lying across his knees and a very troubled look on his face.

“Hello,” said Tom, “you’re home early, aren’t you? Anything wrong at the office, sir?”

“N-no,” responded Mr. Benton, “nothing wrong there. I-I got tired and came home. I’ve been looking through the paper,” he added rather needlessly. Tom sat down on the top step, after a fleeting and puzzled glance at his father’s worried countenance. “I see,” went on Mr. Benton, “that you’re advertising in the News-Courier.”

“Yes, sir, we thought we ought to let folks know we were ready for business.”

“Of course, of course,” murmured Mr. Benton. “I—I suppose you’re quite interested in it, Tom.”

“Yes, sir,” answered the boy heartily, “I certainly am. Why, dad, we’re going to make just gobs of money as soon as we get going well!”

“Need mon—Look here, sir, there is something wrong; I can see it by the way you look, dad. What is it, sir?”

“Wrong? Nonsense! That is—well, yes, Tom, I am troubled a little. It’s nothing important, though.[283] It’ll work out, it’ll work out. Things always do, you know—somehow.” He paused and frowned for a moment at the lilac hedge that was fast losing its leaves. “Don’t you worry, son,” he added after a while.

His father shook his head slowly. “I hope not, Tom. I mean—no, there isn’t anything you can do. Well, well! What time is it, I wonder. Must be most time for supper, eh?”

“Not for a half-hour, sir,” answered Tom troubledly. He had never seen his father look so tired and dejected before. At that moment Jerry Lippit and Teddy Thurston came in at the gate to tell Tom quite candidly what they thought of George Connors; and Jerry, especially, could be exceedingly candid when he set out to be. Only the presence of Tom’s father prevented Jerry from doing full justice to his subject. But neither visitor received much encouragement from Tom.

“Oh, Connors was right enough,” said Tom. “I did stay away from practice too much. I know that. I was so busy with the new truck and the garage and things that I just couldn’t get out. It’s all right. I wouldn’t want to play on the team anyhow with Connors feeling the way he does toward me. It would be[284] too unpleasant. Besides, I guess you fellows will get on all right without me.”

“Yes, we will—not!” scoffed Jerry. “You were the whole right side of the line last year, Tom! What are we going to do now? We’ll stand a fat chance of winning anything, won’t we?”

But Jerry’s indignation soon wore itself out and he changed the subject to the new motor truck.

“Well, I’m sort of glad, because it takes a lot of a fellow’s time; and now that football has begun——” Jerry paused. “Say, I wonder if Will would mind driving the wagon to-morrow afternoon, Tom,” he went on. “You see, I want to go over to Finley Falls with the team. I guess there isn’t much chance of my getting into the game, and if I do go I’ll have to pay my own fare, but I’d sort of like to see it. Think he’d mind, Tom?”

“No,” said Teddy. “I asked him this morning. I offered to drive the express wagon for him, Tom, but he insulted me.”

“Spider! Why, he’s going to the game, of course. You can’t keep Spider away from a football game unless you tie him. He thinks there wouldn’t be any game unless he was there!”

“All right, Jerry, you go ahead. I’ll tell Will about it. Besides, I suppose if we had to we could get the baggage in the new truck to-morrow. Jimmy won’t let us even look at it until he’s been all over it with a fine-tooth comb!”

Tom returned to the garage after supper—it was less than four short blocks from the house—and found Jimmy and Willard unpacking cases of oil, grease and soap. They were stowing the cans on a series of shelves back of the office which Jimmy had put up that afternoon. “I’ve been thinking, Tom,” announced Jimmy, “that what we ought to do is build a sort of bay-window in the office and show goods in it. It wouldn’t cost much and there’s a good twelve feet between the front of the building and the building line.”

“How would it do to put a little addition on that corner?” asked Tom. “Say about eight feet by ten and then have a couple of big, broad windows in front where we could show things? Then we’d use it for the office and salesroom both, and there’d be a small[286] door at the side, so we could get in without going through the garage part. Of course,” he added, laughing, “I’m not suggesting doing it to-morrow, because I guess by the time we pay for the things we’ve ordered we’ll be stone-broke, but——”

“Some day we will,” said Willard decisively. “Fellows, we ought to own this place and then we could fix it up as we liked; build on at the back and front, too, if we wanted to.”

“Well, we’ve got enough room for now,” said Jimmy contentedly. “It’s a lot of fun, though, planning what you’ll do later, isn’t it? Is that the last of these boxes, Will? Now let’s check off. You have the list, haven’t you? By the way, Tom, we get our first boarder next week.”

“Yes. Quinby’s car is due about Monday or Tuesday, and we’re to unload it for him and bring it up here.” Jimmy squinted thoughtfully a moment. “Unloading a car ought to be worth about five dollars, I guess.”

“If you get five dollars out of Mr. Quinby,” said Willard dryly, “you’ll be doing well!”

Jimmy smiled untroubledly. “A man with a new automobile will pay any price you ask him to—if it’s for the auto! And five dollars isn’t a cent too much. In fact, I’m not sure we oughtn’t to ask him more!”

“Better start easy,” laughed Tom, “or Mr. Quinby will get scared and send his car back to the maker! Now go on with your checking, you loafers. It’s a good thing I came. If I hadn’t you’d have sat around here doing nothing all the evening!”

“Is that so, sonny? Just cast your eye along those shelves and tell me if you see anything,” replied Willard indignantly.

“A few cans! There are six dozen cans, my young friend, and Jimmy and I unpacked them all with our tender little hands. Suppose you get busy and do something yourself. Get the wax crayon in the office and mark the price on each can as we give it to you. I guess that’ll hold you for a while!”

There were stirring times at the station the next forenoon when Tom and Willard drove The Ark down to meet the 11:34. The Audelsville High School Football Team, resplendent in new uniforms and accompanied by a score or so of enthusiastic friends, awaited the train and in the interim indulged in the usual frolics to pass the time. Several of the boys crowded about the automobile and expressed to Tom their regrets in the matter of his retirement from the team. There were mutinous grumbles against George Connors and gloomy predictions of defeat at the hands of the Finley Falls enemy in the absence of Tom. Connors, casting an occasional glance of amused contempt at The Ark, regaled a group of his cronies with sallies of wit at the expense of the car. Jerry, sporting a new and vivid blue necktie, Spider Wells, looking taller and thinner than ever, and Teddy Thurston, with his perpetual grin, were much in evidence on the platform. Teddy’s grin from[289] the rear platform of the last car seemed to float over the scene long after the train had disappeared.

As it was Saturday Jimmy Brennan had a half-holiday and he devoted it to work at the garage. They had determined to formally open the place for business on Monday morning and there were still a dozen little last things to be attended to. The sill of one of the swinging doors was rotten and Jimmy laid a new one. Auger holes were bored through the thick planks of the floor in the corner that was to be devoted to washing to let the water through. More supplies had arrived, a shipment of tires and tubes, and these were unpacked and stowed away. It had been decided to prepare about twenty-five advertisements to be posted in conspicuous places along the roads leading into Audelsville. For the purpose Jimmy had obtained that many half-inch boards, ten inches wide and sixteen inches long, and some heavy brown stencil paper. In the latter, with the aid of a sharp knife, he cut out the legend: “PUT UP AT THE CITY GARAGE, AUDELSVILLE.” Willard washed one side of the boards with a thin coat of white paint and set them outside in the sun to dry. As soon as the white had set, and as Jimmy had mixed plenty of drier with it it didn’t take long, the stencil was placed on and a brush dipped in black paint was flourished back and forth. The result was quite astonishing, for the signs looked[290] as though they had come from a sign-painter’s. There was so much to be done and it was such fun doing it that it was past supper time when Tom tore himself away, promising to meet Willard there at seven o’clock—Jimmy was going to Graywich by trolley that evening to visit a friend and spend the night—and hurried home through the twilighted September evening. He expected to be late, but when he reached the house he found his father and mother in the sitting room. It only needed a glance at their faces to tell him that something was wrong.

“I guess I’m late,” he said uneasily, when he had hung up his hat. “There was so much to do at the garage, ma, that I didn’t know how late it was.”

“Supper is late to-night,” replied Mrs. Benton. “I’ll get it now. Your—your father has something to tell you, Tom, dear.”

Mrs. Benton hurried out to the kitchen and Tom took a seat and viewed his father anxiously. Mr. Benton asked what Tom had been doing at the garage, but seemed to pay small attention to the replies, and it wasn’t difficult to see that he was postponing a disagreeable subject. At last, however, “Tom, Connors was around to see me yesterday,” he announced. “And—and I had a talk with him again to-day.”

“You know—or maybe you don’t know it, son—that[291] my postmastership ends pretty soon and there’ll be a new appointment. Well, Connors has a good deal to say about it. He—he’s a kind of political boss in this district. I guess you don’t understand much about politics, Tom, but the fact is that unless Connors says I’m to be reappointed I—I won’t be.”

“But—but I thought the President appointed the postmasters, sir,” said Tom.

“He does nominally. That is, he appoints the man the local political machine wants him to. Well, the local machine is ruled by William Connors and he tells me that they’re thinking of making a change.”

“What for, sir? Haven’t you done all right? Why, I thought every one liked you, dad! And—and Connors himself said just the other day that you and he were great pals!”

Mr. Benton smiled sadly. “Friendship doesn’t stand for much, Tom, in politics; or, anyway, in one kind of politics.”

“Yes, unless——” Mr. Benton paused and frowned. “I guess there’s no use beating about the bush, son. What Connors means is that unless you give up this automobile business he will see that I don’t get back. That’s the thing in a nutshell. Of course,” continued Mr. Benton hurriedly, “I don’t ask you to do it, son. I guess it would be a hard blow to you. The only[292] thing is that—well, I don’t know just what we’d do if I lost my position, Tom!”

“So that’s what he meant when he threatened us!” flared Tom. “It’s the dirtiest trick I ever heard of! Do you mean to say that he can put you out of the post-office to—to revenge himself on me?”

“I’m afraid he can,” replied Mr. Benton sadly. “And he means to do it. I talked with him again to-day and he was pretty plain.”

“But—but there are other men who have influence around here, aren’t there, sir? Why don’t you go to them and tell them what Connors is threatening to do? I’ll bet they wouldn’t stand for it a minute!”

“You don’t know the sort of politics Bill Connors plays, son,” returned his father. “He’s boss around here and the others do about as he tells them to. And unless I have the backing of his crowd I’ll never get a reappointment. No, there’s no use whining. I’ve got to meet Connors’ demands or get out.”

Tom sat silent and dismayed for a moment. Then, “Well, let him do it, sir!” he exclaimed. “I’ll be making enough money for all of us in a few months. Why, Jimmy says we can clear five thousand dollars a year pretty soon!”

“I hope he is right,” said Mr. Benton, “but that’s to be seen, Tom. Meanwhile, I’ve got to decide matters.[293] I—I suppose you’d feel pretty bad if you had to give up the business, son?”

“I—yes, sir,” muttered Tom, “I guess I should. We—we’re just getting everything going nicely.” After a moment’s pause: “Besides, sir, if I got out that wouldn’t stop the business, would it? Will and Jimmy could keep on just the same, couldn’t they?”

“I suppose Connors means that you’re to persuade the others to give it up, too,” replied Mr. Benton with a sigh. “That wouldn’t be difficult, I guess?”

There was silence in the room for several minutes. Mrs. Benton, moving quietly about the dining-room, glanced in anxiously now and then. At last, “Well, if it’s the only thing to do,” said Tom bravely, “I—we’ll have to do it, sir.” He smiled somewhat tremulously and got up. “I guess I’ll go upstairs and wash,” he murmured.

“I wish it wasn’t necessary,” said his father troubledly. “I—I feel mighty bad about it, son.”

“Well—anyhow, we don’t have to decide to-night; we’ll think it over, son. Maybe—to-morrow——”

“I guess thinking it over won’t make it any easier,” answered Tom wisely. “It’ll have to be done, I guess. Only—only I’d like to kill Connors!” And he hurried[294] out of the room so that his father would not see the angry tears in his eyes.

Supper was a lugubrious meal that evening. The subject was not spoken of again and Mrs. Benton tried to be cheerful and make her husband and son forget for the time the trouble confronting them, but she received little assistance from the others, and they were all relieved when, just as Mrs. Benton was serving the preserved strawberries, there was a loud peal of the door-bell, and, before Tom could jump up to answer it, the door crashed open and Mr. Connors strode into the sitting-room beyond. Tom, on his feet, napkin in hand, stared as the liveryman strode forward to the dining-room door. Mr. Connors’ face was pale and distraught and he was gasping for breath as though he had been running. Mr. Benton leaped to his feet and started forward, but Mr. Connors spoke before there was a chance for questions.

“Benton,” he said hoarsely, addressing Tom, “they’ve hurt my boy over to Finley Falls. Chase telegraphed me. I’ve got to get to him. There’s no train till eighty-forty and that may be too late. Can you get me there in that auto of yours? Speak quick!”

“Your son’s hurt?” cried Mr. Benton. “I’m sorry, Bill! Is it—is it bad?”

Mechanically the other searched in his pocket and[295] pulled out a crumpled piece of yellow paper, his eyes still fastened on Tom.

“Read it yourself,” he muttered. “It—sounds bad, John. I’ve got to get to him somehow. I thought——”

“‘George seriously injured in game. Come to City Hospital immediately. Wire me when you will reach here. Lyman Chase!’” Mr. Benton read the message aloud and handed it back. “Perhaps it’s not so serious as you fear, Bill,” he said sympathetically. “But of course you must go at once, Tom.”

Tom’s first sensation had been one of triumph. His enemy was at his mercy! But in the face of Mr. Connors’ grief and anxiety all such thoughts disappeared in an instant, his wrath melted away and only an eager sympathy remained.

“I’ll get you there if it can be done, sir,” he said eagerly. “Dad, how far is Finley Falls?”

“About fifty miles by railroad. A little more by the dirt roads, I suppose. Can you do it, son?”

“Yes, sir, I can do it. I want Will, though, dad. Will you telephone him and tell him to hustle right over to the garage? I’ll get the car, Mr. Connors, and bring it around right away.”

“All right, sir, come along! Good night, dad![296] Good night, ma! Don’t wait up for me, for I can’t tell when I’ll get back!”

Seizing a coat and his cap from the hat-tree in the hall, Tom hurried through the door, closely followed by Mr. Connors. Mr. Benton was to send a telegram to Mr. Chase.

“Six-forty,” answered Mr. Connors. “And that telegram was sent at half-past four. My God, Benton, when will we get there?”

“I’ll get you to Finley Falls in an hour and a half if The Ark will hold together!”

Although Tom and Mr. Connors walked as fast as they knew how, the garage was lighted when they came in sight of it and they found Willard, who had run all the way from his house, seeing to the lamps on the car.

“I’ve looked at the tank, Tom, and it’s two-thirds full,” said Willard. “That’ll get us to Finley Falls all right. We can buy gas there if we need more. Shall I turn the lights on?”

Mr. Connors, after nodding to Willard, took out his watch and frowned at what he saw. While the boys lighted the lamps he paced impatiently up and down by the car, although Tom had opened the tonneau door invitingly. Finally, “All ready, sir,” said Tom. Mr. Connors took his place in the back of the car, Willard slammed the door after him and The Ark ran out into the street. Willard closed the garage and sprang into his place beside Tom. The engine sputtered, the gears rasped and they started off. One[298] block on Main Street and Tom turned back through Linden to Washington. As he swung around the corner he pulled the throttle further open and they flew along under the yellowing elms at a pace that brought the residents of that quiet thoroughfare to their doors.

As they passed the common a quick glance at the clock in the Town Hall gave them the time. It was just eight minutes to seven.

“No, I won’t; not very. There wasn’t time to find anything.” Willard dropped his voice. “How badly is he hurt, Tom?”

“I don’t know. The telegram didn’t say. It just said ‘seriously injured.’ He’s in the hospital, though, and I guess it’s pretty bad.”

Their way took them down River Street, past the station, over the bridge and then sharply to the right along a country road that followed the river for five or six miles. It was a fair road, when in good condition, but lack of rain for many days had placed a two-inch deposit of dust on it and hollowed out many chuck-holes. But this was no time to consider comfort, and, once in the Fountain Road, Tom pulled the throttle wide open, and, with the searchlights boring a dim yellow path into the gloom of early evening,[299] The Ark bounced and lurched onward at break-neck speed.

“What do you suppose we’re making?” gasped Willard once, above the hum of the engine and the spatter of the exhaust. He was holding on to the arm of the seat to keep from bumping against his companion.

“Thirty, anyway; thirty-five, I hope,” answered Tom, clinging to the wheel. “It’s the best she can do, whatever it is,” he added grimly.

“Yes, at the three corners. I’m watching for it. There it is now. Hold hard!”

The car lurched wildly to the left, scraping the bushes beside the way, and straightened out again in the middle of the road. “It’s plain sailing now to Potterstown,” said Tom. “We’ll have to ask when we get there. What’s he doing?”

Willard stole a look at the passenger. “Nothing,” he answered. “Just sitting there. I guess he’s feeling pretty bad.”

A mile further on Willard gave voice to the fear that had been nagging him all along. “Say, Tom, suppose we met a wagon or something. What would happen? There isn’t room to pass, is there?”

He didn’t slow down his speed, however, and Willard, smothering a sigh, leaned back again. The road wound through fields and woods, with here and there, at long intervals, a farm-house showing a dim light from a window or two. Fortunately there were no steep grades, although they had been gradually ascending ever since leaving the river. But the road was scarcely wide enough for two teams to pass save with caution and Willard’s uneasiness was excusable. Luck, however, was with them mile after mile. In the rear seat Mr. Connors, braced in a corner, was bounced and shaken as the car swayed and bounded along with every spring and bolt complaining. They were almost at Potterstown when Willard gave a cry of warning. Into the field of light ahead, where the narrow road turned to the right about the foot of a hill pasture, suddenly came a vehicle.

Willard’s cry was drowned in the hoarse barking of the horn. There was no time to stop, and Willard, clinging frantically to the seat, closed his eyes. There was a shout of alarm beside him, the car tipped perilously, there was a tremendous jolt and the sound of splintering wood, and then—the steady whirr and hum of the car once more. Willard opened his eyes. Ahead of them the road stretched straight and empty.

“No, struck a rail fence,” came the untroubled answer.[301] “Missed the wagon by nearly a foot, I guess. There’s Potterstown ahead.”

Willard’s nervous bracing of his feet on the floor ceased as the car lessened its speed to run into the little village, and he uttered a sigh of relief. Tom heard it, perhaps, for he chuckled as he threw out his clutch in front of the little hotel in the square and put his brakes on hard.

“Straight on for a half a mile and then turn left at the old school house. You can’t miss that. Keep on till you come to a big barn about four miles along. Take the right hand road there and you’ll fetch the Falls.”

Willard held the face of his watch to the dim light that came from the open door of the hotel. “Twenty-eight minutes to eight,” he answered.

The car started again, the exhaust popping loudly, the gears rasped as Tom pulled the lever and The Ark took up her journey once more. Tom ran cautiously through the little village which strung itself[302] out along the straight road. Suddenly a hoarse and anxious voice sounded at his ear.

“About twenty-six miles, I think. I can’t say exactly because I don’t know just how far it is to the Falls.”

“An hour more!” exclaimed Mr. Connors with a groan. “Can’t you go any faster, Benton. I haven’t said anything about paying you for this, but it’s fifty dollars, a hundred, if you get me there before—” his voice broke—“before it’s too late!”

“I’ll do the best I can, Mr. Connors. I’ve run the car at her limit most of the way and I’ll hit it up again as soon as we find the next turn. And I guess that’s it ahead there now.”

He was right. A small, hip-roofed building, set in an apex between diverging roads, with a flag-pole in front of it, was plainly the schoolhouse. The Ark swung to the left and Tom’s fingers sought the throttle lever. The Ark’s purr became a hoarse roar. Faster and faster the car plunged through the darkness. It was cold now with the damp chill of an autumn night, and Willard, his jacket buttoned tight[303] to his throat and the collar turned up, shivered as they flew down a long hill, the air rushing past them like the blast from a giant fan. Tom slowed up at the foot of the hill and half arose in his seat.

Willard, protesting, struggled into it, the car leaped forward again and Willard staggered back into his seat.

“You’ll catch cold, Tom,” he said aggrievedly. “You’d no business doing that.”

“Shut up. I’m all right. Running this thing keeps you warm enough. How far did he say that barn was from the schoolhouse?”

They found it soon, a big white object that loomed ahead of them through the blackness.

“Right,” reminded Willard. Tom nodded and the car swung around the corner on two wheels and raced at a hill.

“About nineteen more, I guess,” said Tom, as they topped the summit and dropped down the other side. “What are those lights ahead?”

“There isn’t time,” answered Tom, peering ahead. The lights came flashing up to them, there was a jolt, and The Ark swept past a crossing-tender’s shanty and over the railroad tracks.

“Gee, it’s lucky there wasn’t a train coming!” exclaimed Willard thankfully.

“We’d seen the head-light,” Tom answered. “This road’s getting better, isn’t it? Either that or I’m getting used to being shaken up. How much gas do you think we had when we left?”

“Stop, I guess. But we’ll be there by that time. She’s running like a charm now, isn’t she?”

“I guess she never went as fast before,” replied Willard. “And I don’t think I want to be in her when she does it again!”

“Do you suppose we can find a place to sleep when we get there? And a place to put the car in?”

“Sure! There’s a big hotel there. And I guess they’ve got a stable, or maybe, a garage. I wish we were there now. I’ll bet I’ll go to sleep to-night without being sung to!”

“And I’ll bet I’ll be running this old car all night long in my dreams,” answered Tom with a sigh. “My arm is as stiff as a poker right now and has funny little pains in it.”

“Couldn’t I take the wheel a while? I guess I wouldn’t be any more scared to run the car than I am sitting here watching for trouble!”

“I’ll stick it out,” answered Tom grimly. “There can’t be much further to go.”

After that silence reigned for several miles. Occasionally a dim reddish glow from the back of the car told them that Mr. Connors was fighting nervousness with cigars. On and on, mile after mile, sped The Ark, never once faltering in its task. Willard’s eyes became heavy, and once, forgetting his anxiety, he actually slumbered for a moment between jounces! Then Tom’s voice startled him into full wakefulness.

Ahead of them the sky glowed as from the many lights of a city. The road began to show small houses on each side, the homes of truck-farmers. Then a factory loomed dark and formless at the left, and they crossed a stream that fell over a dam and drowned for an instant the noise of the car. And then, almost before they realized it, they were in the outskirts of the town and The Ark was running smoothly in the rails of a trolley road. Lights flashed from houses that clustered closer and closer together. Vehicles began to dispute the crossings with them and Tom was forced to slow down. Then cobblestones took the place of dirt under the wheels, stores appeared, flooding the street with light, and The Ark was at the end of its journey.

And yet not quite, for when Tom stopped in front of a brilliant drug-store and Willard leaped out to make inquiries they found that they must traverse the center of town before they could reach the hospital. That was slow work, for it was a Saturday night and Finley Falls was a busy place, and more than once Tom had to stop at crossings or crawl along for rods at a time behind slow-moving trolley cars and teams. But once through the shopping district Tom sped faster again and a few minutes later The Ark was brought to a final halt in front of a big building with many lighted windows and a wide[307] doorway at the top of a flight of granite steps. Mr. Connors was out almost before the car stopped and was hurrying toward the entrance. But half-way up the steps the boys saw him stop. He stood quite motionless for a moment. Then he went on slowly and was lost to sight within the building.

“So do I,” agreed Willard as he climbed stiffly out and stretched his legs. “I wonder how long it took us, Tom.”

“We left at six-fifty-two. That makes it an hour and—and thirty-two minutes. If it’s about fifty-two miles that’s pretty good time! Especially as we had to crawl through the city when we got here!”

“We must have averaged pretty nearly thirty-five miles an hour!” exclaimed Willard. “Gee, I didn’t think the old Ark could do it!”

“She did though. And she sounds like it. Hear that water boiling in the radiator, will you?”

Tom, who had not left his seat since the start, pulled himself erect with many groans and descended to the sidewalk, rubbing his arms to get the kinks out. “I suppose,” he said, “we’re to wait here until he sends word or something.”

At that moment a figure descended the steps and approached the car. “That you, Tom Benton?” asked a voice.

The Assistant Principal clapped a hand on Tom’s shoulder and seized his hand in a tight clasp. “Tom, you saved the day, I guess,” he said.

“Yes. George had a pretty hard knock. I don’t know just how it happened. It was about five minutes before the end of the last quarter, and there was a pile-up in front of their goal. Perhaps he was kicked. Anyhow, he was senseless when we got him off. We rushed him right up here in a carriage and the doctors said it was concussion of the brain. They put him to bed and examined him and said there’d have to be an operation as the skull was fractured a little; trepanning, they call it. But they wouldn’t operate without permission of his folks. I sent another telegram then, but Mr. Connors’ wire, saying he had left, reached me a few minutes later. There was nothing to do then but wait. Half an hour ago the surgeon told me that if they didn’t operate inside an hour it might be too late. There was a pressure on the brain, it seems. They’re doing it now. There’s not much danger now, they say, but of course the poor boy will be laid up for some time. It was lucky Mr. Connors thought of getting[309] you to bring him, Tom. If he had waited for the train he wouldn’t have got here until after ten. You must have made time, boys!”

“I must get back,” said Mr. Chase. “As soon as the operation’s over I’ll let you know. Then you’d better get back to the Mosely House; that’s where I’m staying; and turn in. Of course, you aren’t thinking of going back to-night?”

“No, sir, I guess about all we’re thinking about is bed,” said Tom. “If you’ll let us know when he’s out of danger we’ll go along, sir. I’m awfully glad it’s no worse than it is. Your telegram sounded pretty bad, sir.”

“Things looked pretty bad when I sent it,” replied the teacher. “Well, I’ll be back in a half-hour, I guess. You boys ought to be proud of what you’ve done to-night!”

“I don’t know that I’m so proud of what we’ve done,” said Tom as Mr. Chase hurried back into the hospital, “but I’m certainly proud of what the old Ark has done!”

Three days later, at exactly 1:44 in the afternoon, The Ark chugged her way decorously up to the platform at the station in Audelsville. In the front seat sat Tom and Willard, the latter rather gorgeously arrayed, as befitting one who is about to make his premier appearance at New Haven as a Yale freshman! In the tonneau reposed a suitcase adorned with a fresh, new label, bearing the inscription in a round, boyish hand, “Willard Garford Morris, New Haven, Ct.”

Before The Ark had quite ceased its motion a deep honking sounded in the direction of River Street and the boys turned to watch smilingly and proudly the gallant approach of a green and yellow motor truck on the seat of which sat Jimmy Brennan. The truck drew up behind The Ark and Jimmy shut off the engine and climbed down.

“Well, here’s your trunk, Will. If you’ll give me your ticket I’ll check it for you.”

“Thanks, Jimmy. Here you are.” And Willard[311] rather importantly pulled a pocket-book from the recesses of his jacket and produced his ticket. “How does she run?”

“Run? She doesn’t run,” replied Jimmy proudly. “She glides! I’ll be back in a minute, fellows.”

“I feel sort of guilty, though, running away and leaving you two fellows to do all the work.”

“I know that. Only I feel as though I ought to be here helping. Anyway, I’m glad we’re all straight with Mr. Connors. He was pretty decent, wasn’t he, Tom?”

“Yes, he was. The thing I liked best about him was his not insisting when we refused to take his money that morning.”

“Well, he was certainly grateful! He made me feel—feel like crawling under the hotel verandah! And he was decent about your father, Tom.”

“Yes, but he should have been. I just told him we didn’t want his money and were glad we’d been able to help all we could. And then I said that if he really thought he owed us anything he could see that father got his reappointment as postmaster.”

“And what was it he said? ‘You tell John that he needn’t move out of there until he gets good and ready’; wasn’t that it?”

“There’s four minutes yet. I say, Tom, you’ll write real often, won’t you? And let me know everything that’s going on. I wish we had more money on hand. That’s sort of worrying me.”

Tom smiled. “Well, we haven’t much of a balance in the bank, and that’s a fact. After we pay that insurance premium to-morrow, we’ll have about twenty dollars to our name. But you needn’t worry about that. We’ll make more fast enough. And about everything’s paid for up to date,—except that you still have twenty-five dollars coming to you.”

“There’s no hurry about that,” returned Willard. “And let me know how you get along with the football team, Tom. Wasn’t it fine, their electing you captain?”

“Flattering,” laughed Tom, “but awkward. I told the silly chumps I wouldn’t have time for it but they wouldn’t listen to me. Have you heard how George is getting on?”

“Mother said he was doing finely. But it will be three or four weeks before he can be out again. Is that the whistle?”

But Jimmy returned just then and performed that service and the two boys piled out of The Ark as the 1:57 came whirring into the station. They conducted Willard across the platform and put him on the train.

“I won’t. See that you do. And tell me all the news. Make him write to me, Jimmy, will you?”

The train started slowly out. Tom, with a last wave of his hand, darted across the platform and pounced on the horn.

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The Project Gutenberg eBook of Benton's Venture

BENTON’S
VENTURE

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

CHAPTER I
TOM HAS AN IDEA

CHAPTER II
AND SO HAS WILLARD

CHAPTER III
MR. BENTON SAYS YES

CHAPTER IV
JIMMY BRENNAN REPORTS

CHAPTER V
THE BARGAIN IS SEALED

CHAPTER VI
WILLARD GOES ON STRIKE

CHAPTER VII
JERRY TO THE RESCUE

CHAPTER VIII
TOM LEARNS TO RUN THE ARK

CHAPTER IX
“CAB, SIR?”

CHAPTER X
THE FIRST PASSENGER

CHAPTER XI
THE NEWS-PATRIOT AIDS

CHAPTER XII
WILLARD ENCOUNTERS A FRIEND

CHAPTER XIII
PAT HERRON LOSES HIS TEMPER

CHAPTER XIV
JERRY TAKES A RIDE

CHAPTER XV
AN AFTERNOON OFF

CHAPTER XVI
AN INTERVIEW WITH THE POLICE

CHAPTER XVII
“J. DUFF, JOBBING DONE”

CHAPTER XVIII
DIVIDENDS FOR TWO

CHAPTER XIX
MR. DUFF GIVES NOTICE

CHAPTER XX
INTRODUCING JULIUS CÆSAR

CHAPTER XXI
JIMMY MAKES A PROPOSITION

CHAPTER XXII
THE BOYS TAKE A PARTNER

CHAPTER XXIII
MR. CONNORS MAKES AN OFFER

CHAPTER XXIV
JIMMY GOES TO NEW YORK

CHAPTER XXV
THE ARK FINDS A NEW HOME

CHAPTER XXVI
THE NEW MOTOR TRUCK

CHAPTER XXVII
THE ENEMY IN TROUBLE

CHAPTER XXVIII
A WILD RIDE

CHAPTER XXIX
THE ARK SAYS GOOD-BYE

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE

The Project Gutenberg eBook of Benton's Venture

BENTON’S VENTURE

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

CHAPTER I TOM HAS AN IDEA

CHAPTER II AND SO HAS WILLARD

CHAPTER III MR. BENTON SAYS YES

CHAPTER IV JIMMY BRENNAN REPORTS

CHAPTER V THE BARGAIN IS SEALED

CHAPTER VI WILLARD GOES ON STRIKE

CHAPTER VII JERRY TO THE RESCUE

CHAPTER VIII TOM LEARNS TO RUN THE ARK

CHAPTER IX “CAB, SIR?”

CHAPTER X THE FIRST PASSENGER

CHAPTER XI THE NEWS-PATRIOT AIDS

CHAPTER XII WILLARD ENCOUNTERS A FRIEND

CHAPTER XIII PAT HERRON LOSES HIS TEMPER

CHAPTER XIV JERRY TAKES A RIDE

CHAPTER XV AN AFTERNOON OFF

CHAPTER XVI AN INTERVIEW WITH THE POLICE

CHAPTER XVII “J. DUFF, JOBBING DONE”

CHAPTER XVIII DIVIDENDS FOR TWO

CHAPTER XIX MR. DUFF GIVES NOTICE

CHAPTER XX INTRODUCING JULIUS CÆSAR

CHAPTER XXI JIMMY MAKES A PROPOSITION

CHAPTER XXII THE BOYS TAKE A PARTNER

CHAPTER XXIII MR. CONNORS MAKES AN OFFER

CHAPTER XXIV JIMMY GOES TO NEW YORK

CHAPTER XXV THE ARK FINDS A NEW HOME

CHAPTER XXVI THE NEW MOTOR TRUCK

CHAPTER XXVII THE ENEMY IN TROUBLE

CHAPTER XXVIII A WILD RIDE

CHAPTER XXIX THE ARK SAYS GOOD-BYE