“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!