“But the paper always prints things about any new—er—industry,” protested Spider. He pulled a small paper-covered memorandum book from his pocket, found a pencil with a much chewed point and faced Tom eagerly. “What’s the name of your company?” he demanded.
Tom told him and Spider wrote laboriously in the book. Finally, “You look in the News-Patriot to-morrow morning,” he advised triumphantly, putting his book away. “When you fellows get on your feet and can afford it you can put an advertisement in; I’ll tell father you said you would, shall I?”
“Why, yes,” replied Willard doubtfully. “I guess we could do that—later. And we’re very much obliged, Spider, for what you’re doing.”
“’Tain’t anything,” said Spider carelessly. “After all, you see it’s really news, Will; and a paper prints the news anyway, don’t it?”
Willard acknowledged that he presumed it did, and then, as it was a quarter to three, they started the engine, Spider looking on interestedly, and chugged away to the paper mills. Spider returned to the baggage truck to await their return. Their passenger appeared soon after they had pulled up near the gate in the fence, and Mr. Martin was with him. The latter, a man of about fifty years, rather tall and very precisely dressed, accompanied his visitor to the automobile, viewing the latter with frank curiosity and some amusement, and shook hands as he said good bye.
“Glad you came up, Mr. Latham,” he said cordially. “Very glad to have seen you. I don’t think there will be any further trouble about shipments, now that we understand each other. Sometime when you’re up this way I wish you’d let me know. I’d like to have you meet Mrs. Martin and take dinner with us.”
On the way back Mr. Latham seemed to have got over his impatience. He sat back easily in the tonneau—as easily as the jounces would allow—and smoked a cigar. At the station, which they reached ten minutes before the local train was due, Tom stopped the car across the road from the platform.
“Is this as near as you can take me?” asked the passenger in surprise.
“Yes, sir. We’re not allowed to go up to the platform. Connors, who has the livery stable here, has the privilege and we have to stand over here. I’m sorry.”
“Humph!” Mr. Latham stepped down into the dust of the road and pulled out his pocketbook. “Another of those combinations in restraint of trade, eh? I think if I were you I’d see if I couldn’t get the road to give me a stand. Let me see, fifty cents, wasn’t it?”