“Johnny, these fellers think they have a right to stand here. What’ll I do with them?”
“Put ’em out,” was the laconic reply. The other viewed the automobile doubtfully, evidently at a loss how to proceed. Finally he drove on, tossed down his reins and entered the station. A moment later he returned accompanied by the station agent. The latter came up to Tom and Willard. He was a small man with weak eyes and a sandy mustache and a nervous, querulous manner. He was evidently annoyed at being called from his duties.
“You can’t have that thing here,” he announced hurriedly. “Connors, the livery man, has the privilege for the station.”
“Do you mean that he owns the whole platform?” demanded Tom.
“I mean he’s the only one can stand here. You’re after passengers, ain’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Well, you’ll have to keep away from the platform then unless you’ve got permission from the railroad. So move on now!”
“How do we get permission?” asked Willard.
“I don’t know. Put in an application. Write to the Division Superintendent in Providence. I don’t care what you do. I can’t stand here all day. Move along, can’t you?”