“Put it in front,” said Willard, “under my feet. Is that the train?”
It wasn’t, however; it was just a shunting engine down in the yards. Meanwhile the various drivers about the station were passing facetious remarks about The Ark. Finally the man who was driving the hack called across. “Where’d ye get it, byes?” he asked with a grin and a wink at the Martin chauffeur.
Tom held his peace, but Jerry smiled genially and answered: “Made it ourselves, Old Snookums. Want a ride?”
“Cut it out,” said Willard. “Don’t get fresh, Jerry.”
“You mean your great-grandmother made it,” retorted the Irishman on the hack. “Sure, I’ve seen better ones than that in the junk yards!”
“Oh, we don’t care what you’ve seen at home,” replied Jerry flippantly.
“Is that so? You’re a pretty smart kid, aren’t you?” the driver sneered angrily. “Mind, now, if that thing you have there scares these horses——”
“They look scared already,” offered Teddy. “Do they ever look around?”
A guffaw from the driver of a smart looking runabout and grins from others added fresh fuel to the Irishman’s wrath. “For two cents I’d get down from this box and punch your heads,” he declared, “the whole bunch o’ ye!”