“The auto makes trips between Meechin’s Hotel and the station, meeting all trains, and handling passengers and baggage comfortably and expeditiously. The reasonable charge of twenty-five cents for the trip each way is made and there is no doubt but that the traveling public will warmly welcome this means of transportation, especially when, as is almost always the case, the trolley line fails to make connection with the trains. Young Benton is the driver of the car, while his friend and business associate, Willard Morris, attends to securing trade. Both boys are well known and popular. Morris graduated from high school last month and Benton is in the senior class. The News-Patriot wishes them all good fortune in their plucky venture.”
“There’s a lot there that isn’t so,” said Tom, trying to disguise his pleasure with a critical frown. “That about our making the car ourselves, for instance.”
“Yes, but who cares? It makes a better story, Tom. Why, this ought to be worth a lot to us as advertising. It was dandy of Spider, wasn’t it?”
“Yes; Mr. Wells, too. We ought to find Spider and ride him around all day, Will! Just—just read it again, will you?”
It was well they had the newspaper story to keep their spirits up that morning, for it wasn’t until the 1:57 train pulled in that they succeeded in securing their first passenger, an elderly gentleman who confided to them that he had never ridden in one of “these here contraptions afore” and whose destination was so far the other side of town that the boys doubted whether they had made or lost on the trip! Business looked up a little toward evening, however, and from the 6:05 they gathered three commercial travelers, who filled the car with bags and made good-natured fun of it all the way to the hotel. What added vastly to the boys’ pleasure at that time was the fact that Pat Herron returned from the station with an empty hack!
That evening Willard came to Tom’s house and the boys confided their problems to Mr. Benton and asked his advice. After talking matters over it was decided that they should write an application for a stand at the station and get as many signatures of Audelsville citizens as they could. Then either Tom or Willard would make the trip to Providence and see the superintendent personally.
“There’s a heap of red tape in railroad offices,” said Mr. Benton, “and maybe if you sent your application through the mail you wouldn’t hear anything from it for weeks and weeks. It’ll cost a couple of dollars to make the trip, but you’ll hurry things up a whole lot, I’d say.”
Mr. Benton did not, however, favor the scheme of paying Mr. Simms, or anyone else, for the privilege of standing in front of his store. “I don’t believe,” he said, “that it’s necessary for you to pay anything. I guess you’ve got a right to stand anywhere along the street you want to, just so you keep off the crossings. Of course, I wouldn’t advise you to stop in front of Simms’, now that he’s looking for money, but there’s plenty of other places along there.”
So the next morning, about twenty minutes before it was time for the 9:01 to go through, Tom stopped The Ark in front of a small fruit store, next door to Simms’, and hung out his sign where it could be plainly seen from the hotel. A good many folks paused and looked the car over and asked questions, having evidently read the article in the paper of the day before. Even the occupants of the big trolley car that stopped on the siding nearby showed unusual interest. Tom was alone to-day, for it had been decided that Willard was to secure names to the petition and was already at work. Connors’ hack drove up in front of the hotel and Pat Herron scowled when he saw the automobile across the street. But he made no remarks. Pat had decided to treat the rival concern with silent contempt. Presently three travelers emerged from the hotel and climbed into the hack, although Tom squawked his horn enticingly. Then the hack rolled away and Tom started his engine and followed. In front of the common someone called and he slowed down and looked around. It was Willard, just coming out of the Court House.
“How are you getting on?” asked Tom, casting a glance toward the clock in the tower overhead.