“Why, confound it, you make more than five dollars a week doing our work,” exclaimed Tom. “I should think you could afford to pay him more rent if he asks it.”
But Mr. Duff shook his head. “He might keep on a-raisin’ of it,” he said dejectedly. “And he might put me out. No, sir, I don’t want to do anythin’ to anger Mr. Connors. ’Tain’t wisdom!”
And all the boys could say had no effect. Mr. Duff resolutely severed his connections with the Benton and Morris Transportation Company then and there, and the boys trundled off up the street with a new problem confronting them.
“I suppose,” said Willard finally, “that we might have our passengers hand over their trunk checks at the hotel. Connors couldn’t refuse to take them then.”
“Why couldn’t he? He’s got Tom Meechin on his side, hasn’t he? Besides, that wouldn’t be business. No, sir, if we carry passengers we’re obliged to look after their baggage, and that’s all there is to it. Isn’t there anyone else in this town that does expressing or jobbing?”
Willard shook his head. “I don’t think so. I made inquiries just after we hired Duff; the day he got Mrs. Miller’s wardrobe trunk mixed up with that drummer’s sample case. I guess the only thing for us to do is to find a horse and wagon of our own. Wouldn’t there be room for them in your stable?”
“I suppose so. There’d be plenty of room for the horse, anyway, and I guess we could get the wagon in alongside the car if we had to. But they’ll cost like anything, won’t they?”
“We might be able to hire them,” suggested Willard. “How would it do to advertise?”
“All right, I guess. You’d have to drive the thing, Will.”