“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.”