“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!