BENTON’S
                                VENTURE




[Illustration: “‘This is Saturday and we ought to have a half-holiday’”]




                               BENTON’S
                                VENTURE

                                  BY
                          RALPH HENRY BARBOUR

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


                            [Illustration]


                              ILLUSTRATED


                          NEW YORK AND LONDON
                        D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
                                 1914




                          Copyright, 1914, by
                        D. APPLETON AND COMPANY


                Printed in the United States of America




                                  TO

                                SELINDA

                         ONE OF THE THREE BEST




                    CONTENTS


  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




                    LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


                                                    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




                           BENTON’S VENTURE




                               CHAPTER I

                            TOM HAS AN IDEA


“Want to buy an automobile, son?”

Tom Benton smiled and shook his head.

“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.”

“What do you want for her?” asked Tom.

The carriage dealer looked at him shrewdly, kicked 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 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!”

“I guess that was a long time ago, wasn’t it?” hazarded Tom.

“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!”

“Will this one run now?” Tom asked.

“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.”

“Yes, sir; I will.”

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 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 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.

“Hello, Tom!” greeted Willard. “Going out to the field?”

“I guess so. Come on in and have a doughnut.”

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 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.”

“What for?”

“An automobile.”

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 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.”

“How would you do it?”

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

“Not a bit!” laughed Willard.

“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 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 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 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.”

“But supposing he did? Then where would you be?”

Tom was silent. Mr. Benton shook his head again.

“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!”




                              CHAPTER II

                          AND SO HAS WILLARD


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 twenty-five. He might pay fifty, but he’s afraid I might
not make a go of it.”

“What did he say?” asked Willard.

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 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 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?”

“I don’t believe there’s any chance,” replied Tom ruefully.

“Is there any other way you know of that you can get the money?”

“No, I wish there was!”

“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 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?”

“Why――but――can you do that?” exclaimed Tom.

“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. 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?”

“Of course. I’ll stop in and see him at the shop after school.”

“That’s the ticket. I wonder if it would help any if I went along,
Tom?”

“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.”

“There isn’t time now, is there?” asked Tom, looking anxious.

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 don’t know. Do you?”

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

Tom shook his head. “I don’t know. Where do you suppose we can find
out?”

“I guess dad knows. I’ll ask him this evening. I 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.

“Not much room for bags,” commented Willard.

“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.”

“Gasoline,” suggested Willard, with a laugh.

“I mean what make. There ought to be a name on it somewhere.”

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.

“Ever hear of a Treffry car?” asked Willard.

“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.

“Back again, Mr. Saunders,” he announced carelessly.

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

“Yes, I got to thinking it over, and I dropped in to make you an offer.”

“All right; let’s hear it. I’m sort of busy this afternoon.”

“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.”

“My terms was a hundred and fifty cash,” said Mr. Saunders.

“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.”

“H-m; and what about interest?”

“Interest?”

“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.――――”

“Three per cent.! Jumpin’ Jupiter! The legal rate is five!”

“Is it? On automobiles?”

“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?”

“Well, look it over, you know.”

“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?”

“A man named Brennan, who works――――”

“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――――”

“I know. All right.”

“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.”




                              CHAPTER III

                          MR. BENTON SAYS YES


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?”

“Yes, sir; thank you.”

“Very well. When do you want the money?”

“To-morrow afternoon, sir, if we want it at all.”

“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?”

“We certainly are! We’ve got to!”

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

“Isn’t that great?” demanded Tom.

“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,” 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.”

“Sure. Who was you going to get to do the work?” asked Jimmy.

“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, I guess; ask a painter. Anyhow, it
wouldn’t take much money. Did you put down ten dollars?”

“Yes.”

“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.”

“Maybe he’d want us to buy one of his cars, though,” Tom objected.

“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?”

“A hundred and fifteen.”

“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.”

“Two-twenty,” murmured Tom.

“And some oil and grease. How much――a dollar’s worth?”

Tom nodded and added another figure.

“Well, there we are. Now we’re ready for business. 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!”

“Why not seven times three?”

“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 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?”

“A hundred and fifty-eight dollars and twenty cents.”

“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――――”

“With interest.”

“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 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.”




                              CHAPTER IV

                         JIMMY BRENNAN REPORTS


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. 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
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; 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, 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.”

“Really?” asked Tom sympathetically. “And――and what did you find out?”

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.

“For fifty or sixty dollars,” said 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 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.”

“How long would it take, do you think?” asked Tom.

“Depends. Maybe two weeks. Maybe three. I’d 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 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.”




                               CHAPTER V

                         THE BARGAIN IS SEALED


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
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 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.

“Get ap!” he shouted. “Where you going with the buggy, Tom?”

“Saunders’,” replied Tom.

“Have you got a new horse?”

“No, I’m taking it over to have it stored.”

“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?”

“No, sir, you keep out of there. Hi, there! Quit that!”

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.

“Git ap!” shouted Jimmy.

“Save me! Save me!” shrieked Converse. “They’re running away!”

“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 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?”

“Connors said he’d send right over for it,” answered Tom.

“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
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.

“Oh, just――just run it,” answered Willard.

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 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.

The two boys said nothing for a space. Then Willard broke the silence.

“Well, we got it, Tom,” he said.

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.”

“Yep?”

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

“But Brennan says it’ll 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!”




                              CHAPTER VI

                        WILLARD GOES ON STRIKE


“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
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:

“Tom, I’ll keep on until the body’s done, but I’m not going to do any
more painting after that,” he stated decidedly. “This is Saturday and
we ought to have a half-holiday.”

“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.”

“What game?” asked Tom disinterestedly.

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 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!”

“Bad as that, is it?” asked Tom with a smile.

“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!”

“More likely painter’s colic,” suggested Tom.

“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.”

“You aren’t, eh?” asked Willard, scowling threateningly.

“Not a bit.” Tom painted calmly. “How much have you got to do?”

“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.”

“Fine!” laughed Willard. “The factory’s in Detroit, isn’t it?”

“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 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.”

“You bet it does. Who is going to pitch this afternoon, Will?”

“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?”

The boys drew back and observed their handiwork critically.

“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 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 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?”

“I hope we find them soft,” observed Tom.

“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?”

“Poor, isn’t it? What’s the matter with letting Billy pitch?”

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 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
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, 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 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.”

“It hasn’t?” ejaculated Madden, aghast.

“Certainly not. You didn’t ask for time.”

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

“Seems to me it was your business to call time, sir,” he said.

“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 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.




                              CHAPTER VII

                          JERRY TO THE RESCUE


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.

“Strike!” said Mr. Chase.

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! 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.

“One down!” bawled the coachers to the runners.

“One gone!” called Madden from third.

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 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, 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 ball, two balls, a strike, three balls――Billy
waved his bat and danced at the plate. Another strike!

“He can’t do it again, Billy!” called Chester Madden.

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?”

“Lyman,” replied Spider promptly. “He didn’t do a thing last time.”

“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 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 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 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, 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
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.

“Where’s Lippit?” demanded Chester of the team at large.

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. 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. 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 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 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:

“Say, Tom, you know something?”

“Not much,” laughed Tom. “What is it?”

“You haven’t said ‘automobile’ once all the afternoon!”




                             CHAPTER VIII

                       TOM LEARNS TO RUN THE ARK


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 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.”

“Who was he?” asked Tom.

“James U.,” replied Jimmy. “James U. Martin, to be sure.”

“Oh! And didn’t you like the work?”

“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, 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.”

“Don’t you like Audelsville?” asked Tom in surprise.

“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?”

“Do you know how?” asked Willard hesitatingly, moving away.

“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.

“Is she going?” asked Willard awedly.

“No,” panted Tom, “not yet. I guess she’s cold.” He gave the handle
another half-dozen turns without result.

[Illustration: “He gave the handle another half-dozen turns without
result”]

“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.

“Why doesn’t it go?” he demanded.

“Go? It is going!”

“I mean move――run――――”

“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.”

“How much more is there to do?” asked Willard.

“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 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:

“All right. Now when we get to that next telegraph pole, Tom, stop her!”

Tom took his eyes off the road ahead long enough to glance at the pole
in question and the car headed 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.”

This time Tom made a simply superb stop.

“Good. Now back her,” directed Jimmy.

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,

“Stop her quick!”

Tom jammed on the foot brake, forgetting to release his clutch again.

“Clutch!” bawled Jimmy. “Stop her!”

Tom, perspiring freely now, got his left foot at work and the car
stopped.

“Don’t put your foot brake on hard,” advised Jimmy, “without releasing
your clutch. You wear it 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
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 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
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:

“That’s right, son; let’s see what you can do with it.”

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.

“How did you like it, mother?” asked Tom as he helped her out at the
house.

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
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.

“Then how are we going to raise that axle?” demanded Jimmy.

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 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 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, 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!




                              CHAPTER IX

                              “CAB, SIR?”


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.
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.

“Remember what we told you, Jerry?”

“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.

Jerry grinned. “I didn’t beg; I merely asked. Where are you going?”

“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.”

“Walk home! Why, is it going to break down?” asked Teddy with a laugh.

“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.”

The passengers stared. “What’s that?” asked Jerry.

“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.

“Are you joking?” Teddy demanded.

“Not a bit of it. Ask Tom.” Tom nodded.

“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.

“I hope so,” said Tom. “You’ll have to if we get any passengers.”

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?”

“Twenty-five cents.”

Teddy put his feet on the preserving jars and settled himself
comfortably in a corner of the comfortable 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?”

“Eighty miles an hour,” replied Tom, winking at Willard. Jerry jeered.

“I’ll bet she can’t go thirty! How fast is she going now?”

“About twenty.”

“Let her out a little,” begged Jerry. “Just to show us!”

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.

“Where are you going to stop her?” asked Willard as Tom slowed up.

“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 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?”

“Put it in front,” said Willard, “under my feet. Is that the train?”

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?”

“Cut it out,” said Willard. “Don’t get fresh, Jerry.”

“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!”

“Oh, we don’t care what you’ve seen at home,” replied Jerry flippantly.

“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――――”

“They look scared already,” offered Teddy. “Do they ever look around?”

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 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.

“Automobile to all parts of town!” announced Tom. “Ride up, sir?”

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 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?”

Teddy dug his hand in his pocket and sidled up to Tom.

“Eh? What’s this?” asked Tom.

“The quarter,” replied Teddy. “I’m going to ride back, you know.”

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.




                               CHAPTER X

                          THE FIRST PASSENGER


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.

“What we need,” said Willard with a laugh, “is another automobile.”

“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.

“Hey, you can’t stand there,” he announced truculently.

“Why can’t we?” asked Willard.

“Because that’s my place, that’s why.”

“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.”

“Do you mean that he owns the whole platform?” demanded Tom.

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

“Of course.”

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

“How do we get permission?” asked Willard.

“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?”

“Connors doesn’t own the road, too, does he?” demanded Tom.

“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 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 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?”

“Not far, sir,” replied Tom. “I’ll have you there in two minutes.”

“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――――”

“Yes, yes! All right!”

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
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.

“What’s the fare?” he demanded.

“Twenty-five cents, sir.”

“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
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!”

“Advertising costs money. Besides, how would we do it? Or where?”

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.

“It’s nice to be missed,” murmured Willard.

“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.”

Spider’s face fell. “You’re not? Why?”

Tom explained. Spider’s mild blue eyes blinked. Then,

“Well, what time is it now?” he asked.

“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.”

“Isn’t the team playing Cold Spring this afternoon?” Tom enquired.

“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.”

“A lot of them come from right here,” said Tom. “Now, if――――”

“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!”

“Why――――” began Willard.

“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 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, 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.

“Is this as near as you can take me?” asked the passenger in surprise.

“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?”

“Twenty-five, sir,” replied Tom.

“Oh.” Mr. Latham handed over a dollar bill.

“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.

“No, sir, but that’s all I have with me. It won’t take a minute――――”

“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; 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?”

“Better,” laughed Tom. “Thank you very much, sir.”

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.

“No, who?” asked Willard.

“That’s H. R. Latham, the First Vice-President of the road.”

“Honest?”

“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, 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.”

“Gee!” said Tom. “That’s so! We might go back, Will?”

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.




                              CHAPTER XI

                        THE _NEWS-PATRIOT_ AIDS


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 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?”

“Why――why, if you gave just as good as he did and charged no more――――”

“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!”

“Well, if you look at it that way,” murmured Willard.

“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.”

“That’s all right, sir. And thank you very much. Good morning.”

Tom remained indignant for some time. “If we 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.”

“How do you mean?” asked Willard.

“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.”

Mr. Simms frowned at him, and so did Willard.

“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.” 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 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 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 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 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.”




                              CHAPTER XII

                      WILLARD ENCOUNTERS A FRIEND


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. 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.

“Business?” he demanded.

“Yes, sir,” replied Willard.

“Business?” demanded the man in a louder tone.

“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.”

“Leave it?” Willard, with pen in hand, hesitated.

“Yes. We’ll let you hear in a few days. Hurry up, please.”

“But――but I’d rather see Mr. Cummings himself, sir!”

“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!” 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.

“That was Mr. Latham, wasn’t it?” asked Willard.

The clerk nodded.

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

“Do you know Mr. Latham?”

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?”

“No, sir. My name’s Willard Morris.”

“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 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.”

“I suppose not. What’s this?”

“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?”

“Show him that document, Morris,” directed Mr. Latham.

Mr. Cummings read it and then looked dubiously at Mr. Latham.

“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?”

“Could you make it two, please?” asked Willard.

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, 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?”

“Yes, sir, thank you very much,” replied Willard. “Good morning.”




                             CHAPTER XIII

                      PAT HERRON LOSES HIS TEMPER


“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.

“What luck?” he asked.

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, 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.

“Gee, Will, things are coming our way, aren’t they?” he asked.

“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 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 them, anyway,” agreed Willard.

“One of what?”

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

“No! What for? We haven’t got two.”

“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,” 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 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, 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 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――――”

Pat Herron’s voice was drowned in the whirr of the engine as The Ark
started off, but as long as it was in sight he stood and shook his fist
after it.

[Illustration: “As long as it was in sight he stood and shook his fist
at it”]

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!”




                              CHAPTER XIV

                          JERRY TAKES A RIDE


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, 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 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.

“’S matter?” asked Jerry eagerly.

“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.”

“Would it make it any worse if I went along?” asked Jerry eagerly.

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 in the absence of Jordan, was full of what they were going to
do to their opponents.

“Billy’s going to pitch and it will be a dandy game. Are you coming
out?”

Tom shook his head.

“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 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?”

“I wouldn’t. Better wait till we see what’s wrong with it.”

“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!

“What――――” began Tom.

“Where――――” exclaimed Willard.

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 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! Stop this minute!” shouted Willard.

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
glance at that youth’s face was sufficient. Jerry was as white as a
sheet, although he was trying now very hard to smile.

“You silly chump!” growled Tom.

“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?”

“I couldn’t! I didn’t know how! I――I tried to, Tom!”

“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 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?”




                              CHAPTER XV

                           AN AFTERNOON OFF


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.

“Differential,” he said tersely as he seized a wrench.

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.

“When――when do you think you can do it, Jimmy?” Tom asked.

“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 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.”

“N-no, but we’re losing a lot of money,” Tom mourned.

“Oh, never mind. Let’s forget it and see the game. Come on.”

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 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?”

“All right. We won’t make much, though, I guess.”

“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?”

“Oh, in the afternoon. Better get around about two, I guess.”

“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?”

“Hiring it out?” repeated Willard. “How do you mean, Jimmy?”

“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 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 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:

                        AUTOMOBILE FOR HIRE!

    The Benton and Morris Transportation Company’s Five-Passenger
    Touring Car, with experienced chauffeur, may be engaged for
    pleasure rides any evening after seven o’clock. Terms, Two
    Dollars an hour. Make up your parties! Apply to Thomas Benton,
    37 Cross St.

“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 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.”

“We ought to have another car,” said Willard thoughtfully.

“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.”

“We could hire someone, couldn’t we? Maybe Jimmy Brennan――――”

“Or Jerry Lippit,” laughed Tom. “How would he do?”

“Guess I’d better learn how myself. Will you teach me?”

“Sure. You know a lot about it already, don’t you?”

“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?”

“A couple of dollars a day, I guess. Say I wonder――――”

“What?”

“I wonder if we could get Jimmy Brennan, Tom!”

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

“I suppose so. Would you ask 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 how much he’s getting now, eh? You――you
might kind of get him talking, you know, Will.”

“I like your cheek!” laughed Willard. “Why don’t you do it yourself?”

“Oh, you’re the diplomat of this firm,” answered Tom with a grin.




                              CHAPTER XVI

                     AN INTERVIEW WITH THE POLICE


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 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 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 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.”

Tom frowned. “What’s his name?” he asked innocently. “Connors?”

“No, it’s Mansfield, of course. Come on, now, move off.”

“Where can I find him?”

“At the station.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t see what harm I’m doing here, Officer.”

“It’s against the laws, I suppose. You see the Chief.”

“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 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 the center of the room an officer in his shirt-sleeves was
writing in a book at a desk.

“We’d like to see the Chief of Police, please,” announced Willard.

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.

“Well, boys,” he said as he came to the railing, “want to see me?”

“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?”

“Yes, sir, and――――”

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

“Yes, sir. He said he didn’t mind.” This from Tom.

“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?”

“No, sir,” answered Willard.

“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――――”

“That’s all right. You hadn’t any permit, had you?”

“No, sir. We didn’t know――――”

“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 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.”

“If――if we apply for a stand there will we get it?” Tom asked.

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 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.”

But Willard was mistaken there.




                             CHAPTER XVII

                        “J. DUFF, JOBBING 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 can’t?” exclaimed Tom. “Why――I don’t see――――”

“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.

“But Connors only charges a quarter,” he demurred.

“Then get him to do it,” responded Mr. Duff, with a yawn.

“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.

“Look here,” he said. “Do you want to make some money every day?”

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?”

Mr. Duff viewed his horse thoughtfully for a moment.

“Where to?” he asked at last.

“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 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.”

“Would you pay cash?”

“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.

“I ain’t said I wouldn’t, have I?” he asked complainingly.

“No; and you haven’t said you would! Now, which is it?”

“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.”

“Oh, you have a slate, have you? Where is 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――――”

“Six dollars a week!” exclaimed Tom. “What on? Chicken and asparagus?”

“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 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.

“Leave him be!” bawled Johnny. “Take your hand from him!”

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

“You did that on purpose!” declared Tom angrily.

“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.

“Them things is easy broke, I’m thinkin’,” he observed.

“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!”

“Aw, forget it, sonny! Sure, didn’t you see ’twas an accident?”

“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 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’.”

“_I_ pay damages!” sputtered Tom. “Why, you――you――――”

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
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――――”

“If he did I wouldn’t pay it!” declared Tom.

“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 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.”

“Indeed it doesn’t,” said Tom stoutly. “I’ve been thinking.”

“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?”

“I don’t suppose so. Why?”

“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, 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 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, 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!




                             CHAPTER XVIII

                           DIVIDENDS FOR TWO


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 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.”

“I am, eh?” asked Tom uneasily. “All right. I can stand it. Go ahead.”

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――――”

“Oh, cut the speeches, Willard,” begged Tom. “It’s too hot.”

“That we have taken in,” continued Willard, unruffled, “from――er――all
sources the sum of $187.75.”

“What! How much? Say it again!”

“One hundred and eighty-seven dollars and seventy-five cents,” repeated
Willard in triumph.

“Gee!” gasped Tom. “How’d we do it?”

“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 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.”

“Dis――what?” asked Tom.

“Spent, you idiot! Gasoline, seventeen dollars and thirty cents――――”

“That isn’t so much!”

“Repairs and supplies other than fuel, eight dollars and sixty cents;
printing, including sign-painting, three dollars and eighty-five cents;
one tire and one tube, twenty-two dollars and fifty cents――――”

“I’d forgotten that,” murmured Tom sadly.

“Expense of trip to Providence, two dollars and twelve cents;
incidental expenses, one dollar and sixty-five cents. That’s all.”

“And――and how much does it leave us?” asked Tom anxiously.

“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.”

“Do you mean to say we’ve got all that left?” demanded Tom.

“No, because we paid Saunders twenty dollars, you see.”

“That’s right.”

“So we’ve got on hand one hundred and eleven dollars and seventy-three
cents. Or, anyway, that’s what we ought to have.”

“Haven’t we?” asked Tom anxiously.

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 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 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?”

“All right,” said Tom. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Why, declare a dividend.”

“You――you just do it,” laughed Willard. “We’ve declared it. To-morrow
we’ll each take five dollars out.”

“What’ll we do with it?” asked Tom.

“Anything you like. Spend it; save it; anything.”

“Oh, I see. It’ll be our own, you mean?”

“Of course!”

“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――――”

“What?” asked Willard as the other paused.

“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?”

“A cent and a half,” answered Willard, smiling.

“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.”

“I know, and I’ll pay it myself――out of my dividend.”

“Indeed you won’t! The――the firm will pay it.”

“Pshaw, it isn’t worth while! What’s 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 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.”

“You’ll get it,” whispered Tom, laughingly.

“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,
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.




                              CHAPTER XIX

                         MR. DUFF GIVES NOTICE


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?”

Mr. Duff shook his head and blinked. “He don’t like it.”

“Well, what of it? Haven’t you a perfect right to make a living?”

“I s’pose so,” sighed Mr. Duff.

“Then why do you let him tell you what you shall 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.

“Oh, he does!”

“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?”

“That’s what he said.”

“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?”

“All right, I guess. You’d have to drive the thing, Will.”

“I wouldn’t mind. It would be rather fun.”

“Maybe, but you couldn’t handle those big trunks, I’ll bet.”

“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.

“Jerry Lippit’s father has a horse, hasn’t he?” he asked suddenly.

“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. 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 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!”

“Great Scott!” gasped Tom. “How old is he?”

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――――”

“Oh, what a whopper!” shouted Spider.

“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,” 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.

“Not much,” answered Jerry cheerfully. “One eye’s pretty good yet.”

“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?”

“What for?”

“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.”




                              CHAPTER XX

                       INTRODUCING JULIUS CÆSAR


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 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.”

“How much did it cost when it was new?” asked Willard doubtfully.

“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,

“We’ll give you fifteen dollars for it,” said Willard firmly.

Mr. Saunders, tightening a nut, laughed harshly.

“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 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 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 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 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.

“’Tis a fine horse ye have there,” remarked Pat kindly.

“’Tis so,” responded Jerry.

“And how old might he be, d’ye say?”

“He was four his last birthday.”

“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, 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.

“Tom! That you?” said Jerry’s voice.

“Yes; what is it?”

“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.




                              CHAPTER XXI

                       JIMMY MAKES A PROPOSITION


“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 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 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,” 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.”

“How much would one cost?” asked Tom practically.

“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 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!”

“We ought to have one and have it quick,” said Willard.

“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 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.

[Illustration: “‘How do you fellows feel about taking in a partner?’ he
asked quietly”]

After a moment Willard asked: “Who would he be?”

“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 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 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.”

“N-no.”

“I wish I wasn’t going to college――almost!” sighed Willard.

“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 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:

“Have you got to go home right away, Tom?”

Tom shook his head.

“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!”

“You do?” asked the other eagerly. “Where?”

“The old car-barn on Oak Street.”

“By Jiminy! Let’s go and see it!”




                             CHAPTER XXII

                        THE BOYS TAKE A PARTNER


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 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?”

“Doing――――”

“Going into the business by himself, I mean.”

“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 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.”

“Then you think we’d better go ahead?” asked Tom.

“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
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 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, 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.”

“Perhaps they’d sell it,” suggested Willard.

“We couldn’t buy it if they would,” answered Tom.

“We might later. Would it cost much to put a floor over that pit,
Jimmy?”

“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 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? 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!”

“I should say so!” exclaimed Willard. “That’s fine!”

“Bully!” agreed Tom.

“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 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?”

And the others agreed that it did.




                             CHAPTER XXIII

                      MR. CONNORS MAKES AN OFFER


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:

    “DEAR SIR:

    “I find that we have never had a settlement for damage done
    to my heavy express wagon in collision with your automobile.
    The amount paid out by me in the way of repairs was slight and
    if you will kindly call at my office soon the matter can be
    quickly adjusted.

                              “Respectfully,
                                         “WILLIAM CONNORS.
                                                    “per W. L.”

“Well, of all the cheek!” sputtered Tom indignantly.

“Somehow,” said Willard, “I don’t believe he wants to see us about
those damages.”

“You don’t? Why?”

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 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――――”

“How could I when I had no power on?”

“Sure, I know little about automobiles, but what 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 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!”

“Well――――” began Tom belligerently.

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.

“No, sir, he’s out with the team,” was the response.

“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.

“That’s all right, sir, but it cost us――――”

“Never mind,” interrupted Willard. “If Mr. Connors is willing to call
it square we are, I guess.”

“All right,” Tom muttered.

“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,

“Well, and how’s it going?” he asked. “Doing pretty well, are you?”

“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?”

Tom scowled. “We make that much in two months,” he said.

“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.”

“We’re not selling,” responded Tom emphatically.

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!”




                             CHAPTER XXIV

                        JIMMY GOES TO NEW YORK


And Jimmy hustled.

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 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!”

“And eighty cents,” laughed Willard. “Don’t forget the eighty cents.”

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 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 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?”

“Fine, thanks. Much obliged. See you later.”

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?”

“Well, he used up his ten words, I suppose,” said Tom.

“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 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 yesterday
and then went back this morning and had ’em demonstrated. And by ten
o’clock I’d bought one!”

“What’s it like?” asked Willard eagerly.

“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!”

“And――and was it a second-hand one, Jimmy?” asked Tom.

“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.”

“How much?” demanded Willard anxiously.

Jimmy winked triumphantly, exasperatingly. “How much do you think,
Will?”

“Eight hundred, Jimmy?”

“Seven hundred,” suggested Tom.

“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!”

“Who pays the freight, Jimmy?” asked Tom practically.

“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 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
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!”




                              CHAPTER XXV

                       THE ARK FINDS A NEW HOME


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 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 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 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 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――――”

“But we wouldn’t make nearly so much, would we?”

“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.”




                             CHAPTER XXVI

                          THE NEW MOTOR TRUCK


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 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.”

“You bet you’re out of it! We don’t need you, Benton――――”

“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, 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!”

“Hm; glad to hear it, son. We may need money before long.”

“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. 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.

“Is there――can I help any way, sir?” asked Tom sympathetically.

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 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.

“I suppose you won’t want me and Julius Cæsar now?” he said.

“Not after to-morrow, Jerry. You lose your job then.”

“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, I guess not. He isn’t going himself, is he?”

“Will? I don’t think so.”

“No,” said Teddy. “I asked him this morning. I offered to drive the
express wagon for him, Tom, but he insulted me.”

“What’s the matter with letting Spider do it?” asked Tom.

“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 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.”

“Boarder?” repeated Tom, puzzled.

“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.

“There are a few cans there,” replied Tom.

“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!”




                             CHAPTER XXVII

                         THE ENEMY IN TROUBLE


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 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 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.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Tom, frowning expectantly.

“You know――or maybe you don’t know it, son――that 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.”

“So you think he will go against you, sir?”

“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 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. 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?”

“No, sir, I suppose not,” replied Tom miserably.

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.”

“I guess it won’t kill me,” answered Tom, trying to grin.

“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 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 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.”

“I’ll go with you,” replied the liveryman. “It’ll save time.”

“All right, sir, come along! Good night, dad! 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.

“What time is it now, sir?” asked Tom, as they turned toward the garage.

“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!”




                            CHAPTER XXVIII

                              A WILD RIDE


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 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.

“You’ll be cold,” said Tom, as he noted that Willard had no overcoat on.

“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, 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.

“We turn pretty soon, don’t we?”

“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?”

“I don’t know,” answered the other calmly. “Hope so.”

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.

“Did we hit them?” he gasped.

“No, struck a rail fence,” came the untroubled answer. “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.

“Which way to Finley Falls?” he called to a group on the porch.

“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.”

“How far is it?” asked Tom.

“’Bout twenty-four miles, I guess; maybe a little more.”

“Thank you.” Tom turned to Willard. “What time is it now?”

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 out along
the straight road. Suddenly a hoarse and anxious voice sounded at his
ear.

“What time is it now?” asked Mr. Connors.

“Twenty-eight to eight, sir.”

“How far have we come?”

“About twenty-six miles, I think. I can’t say exactly because I don’t
know just how far it is to the Falls.”

“When will we get there?”

“We ought to be there in another hour, sir.”

“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 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.

“Help me off with this coat,” he said as he worked one arm out.

“What for?” asked Willard, obeying while he questioned.

“It’s in the way. It’s too warm. That’s it. Steady! Now put it on.”

“But――――” began Willard.

“Hurry up!” commanded Tom impatiently. “You’re losing time!”

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?”

“Four miles.”

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?”

“Maybe a wagon. Better go easy.”

“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?”

“About six or seven gallons. The tank was two-thirds full.”

“We won’t use more than four, I suppose. How about oil?”

“I didn’t look. The crank-case was filled Wednesday, though.”

“I guess there’s enough. We’ll soon know it if there isn’t.”

“What will happen?”

“She’ll heat up and smell like the dickens first.”

“Then what?”

“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.

“Finley Falls,” said Tom briefly.

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 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.

Tom sighed. “I hope we got him here in time,” he said softly.

“So do I,” agreed Willard as he climbed stiffly out and stretched his
legs. “I wonder how long it took us, Tom.”

“What time is it now?”

“Just twenty-four minutes past eight.”

“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.

“Yes, sir. Is that you, Mr. Chase?”

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.

“You mean――I got him here――in time, sir?”

“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 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!”

“We did,” replied Willard with emphasis.

“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!”

And he patted the wheel affectionately.




                             CHAPTER XXIX

                         THE ARK SAYS GOOD-BYE


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 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.”

“It was a fine thing, our finding Jimmy,” said Willard reflectively.

“I should say so! We’d never have got anywhere without him.”

“I feel sort of guilty, though, running away and leaving you two
fellows to do all the work.”

“You needn’t. We’ll get on all right.”

“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?”

Tom nodded. “Something like that. What time is it getting to be?”

“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?”

“Yes, you’d better get your bag out.”

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.

“Good-bye, Tom! Be good to The Ark! Good-bye, Jimmy! Look after
yourself!”

“Good-bye, Will! Don’t forget to write to a fellow!”

“I won’t. See that you do. And tell me all the news. Make him write to
me, Jimmy, will you?”

“If he doesn’t I’ll cut his tires,” responded Jimmy.

The train started slowly out. Tom, with a last wave of his hand, darted
across the platform and pounced on the horn.

“Honk! Honk!” said The Ark. “Honk! Honk! Honk!”


THE END




 Transcriber’s Notes:

 ――Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).

 ――Except for the frontispiece, illustrations have been moved to
   follow the text that they illustrate.

 ――Printer’s, punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently
   corrected.

 ――Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.

 ――Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.