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!