CHAPTER XVIAN INTERVIEW WITH THE POLICE
On Monday The Ark was running again apparently as well as ever save for an occasional rumbling sound that issued from the differential. Perhaps had The Ark been a quieter car normally the noise from the broken pinion would have been more apparent. As it was, one would hardly have guessed that anything was wrong. Very early Monday morning Tom and Willard went out on the Graywich road and Willard had his first lesson. As he had attended most if not all of the lessons given Tom by Jimmy Brennan, and had even held the wheel himself once or twice, Willard was not quite a novice. But whereas Tom had taken to driving as a duck takes to water Willard was decidedly suspicious and nervous.
“Oh, go on!” Tom would command impatiently. “Throw your lever! It isn’t going to bite you!”
But Willard wasn’t taking anyone’s word for that and so made slow progress. It wasn’t until he hadbeen through at least a dozen road lessons that he got on what Tom called speaking terms with The Ark. But although his progress was slow it was also certain, and by the end of that summer Willard had become in some respects a better automobile driver than his partner. Tom’s style was a little bit slap-dash, a little bit breath-taking, in fact. Changing gears was a noisy operation with Tom and he had a way of swinging around corners without releasing his clutch or using his brake that was more spectacular than scientific. Willard, on the other hand, could go from low to second and through to high without the occupant of the back seat suspecting it, could keep the speed even without apparent effort and was a much saner chap at the corners. He never, however, quite got over his awe of the car and the engine remained to him a wonderful mystery to the end. If you wanted to take a nice, quiet ride, without any shock to your nerves, you would do well to engage Willard for chauffeur, but if you wanted to make, say, the 9:01 express and had only five minutes to do it in, you had best put your faith in Tom. In those days a speed limit for automobiles had not yet been thought of in Audelsville, which was a lucky thing for Thomas Benton!
Down at the station the relations between Pat Herron and his assistant, Johnny Green, and the membersof the Benton and Morris Transportation Company remained strained. There were, however, no overt acts on the part of the Connors’ interests during the first part of the week, and Willard, who had predicted that Connors would either try to have their platform privilege revoked or attempt to frighten them off in some way, was surprised. Pat Herron, aside from an occasional sneer, was strangely silent. Of course the competition for trade was as brisk as ever, and alighting passengers were literally fought over on the platform. As, however, Johnny Green had to remain and look after the horses, it left only Pat Herron to solicit passengers, and, as there was only one of Pat, the advantage lay with Tom and Willard. By the middle of that week The Ark was getting its full share of the business and Johnny Green usually departed with an empty surrey.
There was one thing, though, that bothered the boys, and that was their inability to handle baggage. Very often Tom made a second trip to the station and piled a trunk or three or four sample cases into the tonneau of the car and took them up-town. But The Ark was not designed for carrying baggage and her varnish and leather suffered in consequence. They at length decided that the twenty-five cents they received for hauling a trunk did not pay for the damage wrought to the car, and after that when a travelerhanded over his baggage check it was transferred to the agent with the request that he send the trunk or case up by Connors. Willard became more firmly convinced than ever that they needed a small motor truck or delivery wagon, although he couldn’t see just how they were going to get it.
On Thursday Mr. William Connors showed his hand in two ways. The Ark had taken up its stand in front of a small fruit store almost opposite the hotel entrance. The fruit dealer, a good-natured Greek, had proffered no objection so far and The Ark had been picking up a good many passengers from the hotel. But on Thursday, just after Tom, who was alone in the car, had chugged The Ark to its accustomed position, a tall member of Audelsville’s small but efficient police force sauntered up.
“You can’t keep your car standing here, sir,” he announced. “There’s been objections made and I’ve got orders to keep you away.”
“Objections?” asked Tom in surprise. “Who’s been objecting?” He looked toward the fruit dealer, who was piling cantaloupes on the stand in front of the shop. “Has he kicked?”
The policeman shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. I’ve got my orders. That’s all I know about it. You’d better go and talk with the Chief, I guess.”
Tom frowned. “What’s his name?” he asked innocently. “Connors?”
“No, it’s Mansfield, of course. Come on, now, move off.”
“Where can I find him?”
“At the station.”
“Oh. Well, I don’t see what harm I’m doing here, Officer.”
“It’s against the laws, I suppose. You see the Chief.”
“All right.” Tom got out and cranked the engine and then went slowly and thoughtfully down the street. He didn’t doubt for a minute that Bill Connors was at the bottom of it and he wished that Willard was there to consult with. In the end, by the time he had reached the Town Hall, he decided to postpone calling on the Chief of Police until Willard was along to do the talking. So he went on down to the station with an empty car and found fresh evidence of Connors’ activity. From the whip-socket of Pat Herron’s hack hung a tin sign bearing the inscription, “FARE 25 CENTS.” Connors had at last met competition!
The hack got two passengers from the 9:01 and The Ark none. But, for once, Tom didn’t much care. He was anxious to see Willard and acquaint him with the latest developments. Willard was at his father’sshop and hurried out when Tom drew up and honked the horn. Willard was properly indignant over the action of the police, but seemed to derive only satisfaction from the rest of Tom’s story.
“Don’t you see, Tom, that if he has put his price down to meet ours it shows that he’s getting worried; that we’re cutting into his business?”
“I knew that anyway,” replied Tom dubiously. “He didn’t have to cut his price to tell me that. What I’m afraid of is that he will get more passengers now.”
“I don’t believe he will,” said Willard. “I tell you it’s the novelty of riding in an automobile that catches them; that, and the fact that they’ll get up-town quicker. I don’t think we need to worry about that, Tom. But this other business——” Willard stopped and pondered. “I suppose Bill Connors sort of stands in with the police folks. You wait a minute till I finish addressing some bills and we’ll go down and have a talk with the Chief. I’ve only got about a dozen left to do.”
The Police Station was at the back of the Town Hall. You went down a half-dozen stone steps and found yourself in a narrow hall-way from which rooms opened left and right. There was a red lantern over the entrance and a sign on the first door to the right: “Police Department.” The door was wide open and beyond a low partition which ran throughthe center of the room an officer in his shirt-sleeves was writing in a book at a desk.
“We’d like to see the Chief of Police, please,” announced Willard.
The man at the desk looked up briefly, shouted “Chief!” and went back to his work. A chair creaked in an inner room and presently a very big and rather stout man appeared. He, too, was in his shirt-sleeves and carried the morning paper in one hand. The boys knew him well by sight and stood rather in awe of him, he was so big and authoritative looking.
“Well, boys,” he said as he came to the railing, “want to see me?”
“Yes, sir. My name is Willard Morris and his is Tom Benton. We—we run an automobile to the station and one of your men came up this morning and said we couldn’t stand in front of the fruit store across from the hotel because someone had made a kick about it and——”
“Hold on a minute,” interrupted Chief Mansfield. “Go a little slower. You’re the fellows who run that gray auto, are you?”
“Yes, sir, and——”
“And you’ve been keeping it in front of the Greek’s store on Main Street, haven’t you?”
“Yes, sir. He said he didn’t mind.” This from Tom.
“It wouldn’t have mattered if he had,” said the Chief. “When you want permission for a carriage stand in the public streets you must come to the Police Department for it. Didn’t you know that?”
“No, sir,” answered Willard.
“Well, it’s so. Now, I’ve received a protest against you and you’ll have to stop it. You’re interfering with traffic. Main Street is a pretty busy thoroughfare and it won’t do to have vehicles stopping by the hour there.”
“But we don’t stay there by the hour,” denied Tom indignantly. “We take the car there only about a quarter of an hour before train time——”
“That’s all right. You hadn’t any permit, had you?”
“No, sir. We didn’t know——”
“You should have known. Ignorance of the law is no excuse, boys. You’ll have to keep moving after this.”
“Would you mind telling us, please, who it is that—that made the objection?”
“Not a bit. I had a protest from Mr. William Connors. Have you got that letter of Connors’ there, Sam?”
The man at the desk rummaged a moment and handed a folded sheet of paper to the Chief. “Here it is,” said the latter, running his eye over it. “Hesays your automobile interferes with the free passage of his teams through Main Street in the vicinity of Meechin’s Hotel.”
“He just says that because we’re taking some of his trade away from him,” exclaimed Tom indignantly. “There’s plenty of room there for his old teams to pass!”
“That makes no difference, son. If you want to apply for a stand for a public vehicle on Main Street you send in your application and we’ll pass on it. Meanwhile you’ll have to keep away. Sorry, but that’s the law.”
“If—if we apply for a stand there will we get it?” Tom asked.
The Chief smiled in a far-away manner. “Can’t say. Try and see,” he answered. “If there’s a public demand for it, you’ll get it.”
The boys were silent while they went back to the car. It was only after Tom had cranked up and had started slowly up Main Street that he summed up the situation with “Well, I guess Connors has got us this time!” Willard nodded dubiously.
“There isn’t much use making that application,” went on Tom, “because he hasn’t any idea of granting it. Connors has told him that we are interfering with his business and that he wants us kept away from the hotel. And I guess Connors has enoughinfluence in town to get a favor when he asks it.”
“Still, I think we ought to try,” said Willard. “And, look here, Tom, if they won’t let us stand opposite the hotel maybe they’ll let us have a place further down-town.”
“Perhaps; but that wouldn’t be much good. Folks from Meechin’s wouldn’t walk far to get us, especially if they had bags.”
“N-no, but we might pick up townsfolks now and then. Anyway, I think we’d better make an application. We’ll ask for the place we want. If we can’t have that we’ll take what they give us. I’m glad they can’t stop us from standing at the station.”
“They would if they could,” said Tom. “Connors has made up his mind to fight, I guess.”
“Let him! I sort of like a scrap. Anyway, he can’t do any more than he has done.”
But Willard was mistaken there.