“That’s what I mean. Drummers always have bags and trunks, and they can’t walk to the hotel. So they take one of those rickety old hacks down there, or they wait for a car.”
“They don’t if they’re in a hurry,” said Willard grimly. “The cars only run every half-hour or so.”
“Twenty minutes; but they’re never there when a train comes in, and so the folks usually take one of Connors’ hacks. That costs them fifty cents apiece, and twenty-five cents for a trunk. Well, if I had that automobile, Will, I’d be down there when the trains come in, and I guess I’d do a good business. Most anyone would rather go to the hotel in an automobile than a hack. It’s quicker, in the first place, and then, besides, I’d take them up for a quarter.”
“Why, say, that isn’t a bad idea! But old Connors would be mad, wouldn’t he? How many would your auto hold?”
“Four, besides me,” answered Tom. “It would be big enough most times, I guess.”
“But gasoline would cost you money, Tom; don’t forget that. And oil; and repairs. I don’t believe you’d make much at twenty-five cents apiece.”
“I’ve figured I could clear about fifteen dollars a week,” replied Tom thoughtfully. “At that rate I could pay father for the car and have quite a little at the end of the summer. Then, if it proved a success, maybe I could find someone to drive it for me in the winter while I’m at school. But, there’s no use talking about it, I suppose, for I don’t believe father would give me the money.”
“Maybe Saunders would sell on the installment plan,” Willard suggested. “Then you could pay him a little every week. Did you ask him?”
Tom shook his head. “No; I didn’t really think seriously of it until afterward. He told me he’d give me ten dollars if I’d find someone to buy it from him. So I should think he’d sell it for a hundred and forty if he didn’t have to pay out any commission, eh?”
“Shucks, Tom, he’d probably let you have it for a hundred and twenty-five. Where’d he get it, anyway?”