“You don’t? Why?”
Willard shook his head. “I don’t know why I don’t, but I just don’t, Tom. Anyway, let’s go and see him this morning. If he’s going to make more trouble for us let’s find it out.”
“All right, we’ll go after the first train. If you’ve got anything disagreeable to do it’s best to do it right off and get it off your mind. I hope he chokes, though!”
An hour or so later they rode around to Connors’ stable, back of the hotel, on Ash Street, and found Mr. Connors in the tiny office tucked in a front corner of the big red building. He was a small, wiry man of about fifty, with a short and stubby yellow mustache, gimlet eyes and red cheeks. His attire proclaimed the horseman; a checked suit of a somewhat loud style, a fancy vest, and a good-sized diamond horse-shoe in the scarlet tie. A gold chain with unusually large links crossed his waistcoat and was hung with several charms. In size the liveryman was not much larger than Willard, but for all of that there was something about him that commanded instant respect. Willard introduced himself and Tom and Mr. Connors smiled very nicely. When he smiled his sharp gray eyes twinkled and one sort of wanted to like him!
“I’d know you from the resemblance you have to your father,” he told Tom. “Sure, him and me is great pals.” (Tom was not aware of the fact, but he didn’t question the assertion.) “Well, it’s like this, boys; I paid out two dollars and twenty-five cents on that wagon—here’s the bill to look at—and I guess you’ll call that getting off fairly easy.”
“That’s all right,” said Willard calmly, “but we’ve got a bigger bill against you, Mr. Connors. If you want to pay the difference between our bill and yours, all right. We can settle up now as well as any time.”
Mr. Connors smiled leniently. “You’re not asking me to pay for what was your own fault, are you?” he asked. “Sure, ’twas this young man ran his automobile into my wagon. Maybe ’twas unintentional; like as not ’twas just an accident, do you mind; but it played hob with the wagon.”
“I didn’t run the car into your wagon,” retorted Tom warmly. “I couldn’t have because I’d stopped my engine. This man of yours, Green, drove up in front of our car and then backed against it twice and broke one of our lamps and——”
Mr. Connors shook his head gently. “That ain’t the way I got it, Benton. I had it straight from Pat Herron and Green himself, mind you. They say you ran your car——”