“Show him that document, Morris,” directed Mr. Latham.
Mr. Cummings read it and then looked dubiously at Mr. Latham.
“Seems to me we’ve let somebody have the station privilege at Audelsville, Henry,” he said.
“We have, but competition’s the life of trade, they say, Charlie, and these young gentlemen are particular friends of mine. I guess we can let them in, can’t we?”
“I suppose so.” Mr. Cummings pressed one of a row of buttons at the edge of his desk and almost at once a clerk entered. “Dictation, Graham.” The clerk seated himself, pulled a book from his pocket and poised a pencil. Mr. Cummings fixed his eyes on the ceiling. “To——” He glanced at the petition in his hand—“To Benton and Morris Transportation Company, Audelsville, R. I. ‘Gentlemen: Your application for platform privilege at Audelsville station received and same is hereby granted, terminable at our discretion. We have notified our agent to afford you space for one’—eh?”
“Could you make it two, please?” asked Willard.
The Passenger Agent shot a glance of inquiry at the First Vice-President, and the latter, with a smile, nodded.
“All right. ‘Space for two vehicles. Respectfully, and so forth.’ Typewrite that immediately, please, and I’ll sign it. Here’s another. ‘Agent, Audelsville, R. I. Benton and Morris Transportation Company granted platform privilege until further notice. You will provide them space for two vehicles. Respectfully and so forth.’ That all I can do for you?”
“Yes, sir, thank you very much,” replied Willard. “Good morning.”