“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.”