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?”