CHAPTER XXIVJIMMY GOES TO NEW YORK
And Jimmy hustled.
He gave notice to his employers that he was leaving them on the 20th of the month and then demanded two days off, or, more strictly, a day and a half, since it was Friday when he scurried off to New York and half of Saturday was his anyhow. Tom and Willard took him down to the 9:01, which would enable him to reach New York at about two in the afternoon, and all the way to the station and while they waited for the express they discussed Jimmy’s mission excitedly. It was agreed that he was to purchase a used truck if possible, but if he did not find any second-hand ones that suited him he was to negotiate for a new one on the best terms obtainable and the firm would pay by installments the difference between the seven hundred dollars which Jimmy bore away with him in the shape of a New York draft and the price of the car. Meanwhile the street railway company, as good as their word, had started in on theold barn and the gap in the floor was being bridged expeditiously with nice new, clean-smelling pine. The day after they closed the deal with the real estate agent Tom, Willard, Jimmy and Mr. Benton had gone to Lawyer Gilbraith’s office and an imposing document had been drawn up. By the terms of the new agreement each of the three partners was to share equally, while the name of the firm was changed to the City Transfer and Garage Company.
It was during Jimmy’s absence that the boys held their second business meeting and that Willard announced the earnings for the last month. The station work had brought in $189 and rentals had added $74.50, a total of $263.50. This represented an increase of $75.75 over the business of the preceding month. Expenses had been $54.70, or $1.32 less than for the previous period. The month’s profit was $208.80.
“Gee!” exclaimed Tom awedly. “If we can make that much now what will we do when we get the truck?”
“We ought to add a third more, I think,” said Willard. “But there’s one thing you must remember, and that is that the novelty of taking automobile rides seems to be wearing off. We haven’t done much the past ten days. Besides, when it gets cold folks won’t want to run around the country at night.”
“That’s so, but there’ll be the garage business, and Jimmy seems to think there’ll be more money in that than in the transfer part of the thing. Anyhow, we haven’t any kick coming, I guess! Two hundred and eight dollars! Gee!”
“And eighty cents,” laughed Willard. “Don’t forget the eighty cents.”
Tom waved a hand carelessly. “You may have that,” he said magnificently. “What’s eighty cents to a millionaire?”
The next day Summer took her departure. You could feel the difference the moment you stuck a foot out of bed in the morning. There was a brisk, nippy west wind blowing from across the river, a good-natured and rather boisterous wind that whipped the leaves from the trees along the shaded streets, made you clap your hand to your yellowed straw hat and seemed to cry: “Well, here we are again! Hello, folks! Shake hands with my friend, Mr. Autumn!” And more than the sudden zest in the air told of Fall. For when Tom chugged through Connecticut Avenue on his way down town to collect passengers for the first train a boy hailed him from a front porch and then joined him as he stopped The Ark. It was Billy Younger.
“Say, Tom,” he announced, “George asked me to see you and find out why you haven’t been out forpractice. I told him I guessed you were too busy running your auto and he said if you didn’t show up pretty soon he didn’t want you.”
“Practice?” repeated Tom vacantly. “What kind—Oh, by Jove! I forgot all about football, Billy! How long have you been at it?”
“Since Monday. We’re getting along pretty well, too. We play Finley Falls a week from to-day. You don’t want to miss that. We’re going to smear ’em, Tom, this year. Be out this afternoon?”
“Why—yes, I guess so. Three o’clock, is it? Nobody said anything to me about it and I’ve been so busy I didn’t think. It doesn’t seem possible it can be football time already!”
“’Tis, though. And it’s mighty near school time, too, worse luck! Only eight days more vacation. I guess you’re pretty sure of right tackle this year, Tom. Lyman’s too light for it and Berger’s a regular dub. We’re going to have a dandy team, all right, but we need you, you know.”
Tom nodded. “I’ll be out to-day if I possibly can. Monday, anyway. Tell Connors, will you?”
Billy shrugged his shoulders. “All right, but if you take my advice you’ll show up to-day. George is sort of huffy with you, it looks like. Had a row, you two?”
“N-no,” Tom hesitated. “No, we haven’t had anyrow. I suppose George Connors is sort of peeved with Willard and me because we started this automobile business and cut in on his dad.”
Billy whistled. “So that’s it? I wondered. He kind of acts as though he wanted to keep you off the team. I don’t suppose the fellows would stand for it, though. Still, George is captain and—well, if I were you I’d try my level best to get out to-day. So long. How’s The Ark running?”
“Fine, thanks. Much obliged. See you later.”
Tom went on thoughtfully. He was fond of football and was a good player, and he wondered whether George Connors was going to hold his grudge against him. If he did he could make it pretty hard sledding. Tom had fairly earned the position of right tackle last season, and he wanted to play it, but if Captain Connors was going to dislike him there wouldn’t be much fun for him on the gridiron. Well, he’d go out for practice to-day anyhow. And he could soon tell how the land lay.
At noon Willard appeared breathlessly with a telegram from Jimmy. A telegram was a good deal of an event in the lives of the boys and this one worked them up to a high pitch of excitement. The message had been sent from New York at eleven o’clock and said: “Back on eight-forty to-night. Got it. Meet me at station.”
The rest of the day the boys speculated as to what “it” was. “That’s the worst of telegrams,” complained Willard. “They never tell you anything. They just get your curiosity up and stop short. Why the dickens didn’t he tell us something about it?”
“Well, he used up his ten words, I suppose,” said Tom.
“What’s that got to do with it? Couldn’t he have spent ten cents more and told us whether it was a new one or an old one and how much he paid for it?”
“No, not for ten cents, I guess,” laughed Tom. “Anyway, we’ll know all about it this evening.”
They went out to the field in The Ark in the afternoon, Tom, in a faded and worn suit of football togs, to join practice, and Willard to look on. George Connors’ greeting of the delinquent member of the squad was decidedly ungracious.
“Why didn’t you stay away until Thanksgiving, Benton?” he demanded sarcastically. “I suppose you think you’re so good you don’t have to practice, eh? I don’t know as we need you very much now. We’ve been at it a week.”
“Nobody said anything to me about practice,” replied Tom quietly. “If you’d sent me word I’d been out.”
“Maybe you’d have liked me to come and fetch youin a carriage,” sneered Connors. “You’re in the second squad to-day, Benton.”
All during practice and the short scrimmage that followed Tom was aware of the captain’s scowling regard. In the ten-minute period of play Tom messed up his opponent in the line, and, in spite of being out of condition, played a hard game. But Connors was not to be placated and Tom left the field with the knowledge that Connors had it in for him and meant, if possible, to keep him out of the first squad. He confided his fears to Willard, but if he expected sympathy he was disappointed, for Willard lent only perfunctory attention and was too full of the approaching arrival of Jimmy to take much interest in his chum’s predicament.
Jimmy arrived on time and was conveyed to his boarding-house in the car. During the ride and subsequently, when the three were seated about the little bedroom upstairs, he reported the result of his journey.
“It was easy, fellows,” said Jimmy. “Say, there are more automobiles in one block in New York than you ever dreamed of! And you can buy ’em at all prices, too. I went right uptown yesterday when I got in and found a friend of mine who’s demonstrator for a big company on Broadway and he told me just where to go. I looked over five or six carsyesterday and then went back this morning and had ’em demonstrated. And by ten o’clock I’d bought one!”
“What’s it like?” asked Willard eagerly.
“A peach! They call it a light delivery truck. It’s got a body big enough to hold twenty trunks, I guess, and it’ll haul a ton. It’s got a two-cylinder engine, twenty-six horsepower; planetary transmission; brakes on the rear hubs. It’s a Phelps. Made in Springfield, Massachusetts, which is good in case we have to send for new parts; won’t take long to get ’em; see? It has solid tires instead of pneumatic, which is saving. There’s no top, but we can have a good big rubber tarpaulin to pull over the load. There’s a small buggy top over the seat, though, and an apron that folds away underneath it. It’s painted green and yellow and is some swell little old truck, believe me, fellows!”
“And—and was it a second-hand one, Jimmy?” asked Tom.
“Sure; run less than six hundred miles and in A1 condition. I pretty near had it to pieces, fellows, and there isn’t a worn part about it. It’s just been painted up fresh and it looks as good as new. And I don’t know but what I’d just as soon have it as a new one, for it’s got its kinks worn off.”
“How much?” demanded Willard anxiously.
Jimmy winked triumphantly, exasperatingly. “How much do you think, Will?”
“Eight hundred, Jimmy?”
“Seven hundred,” suggested Tom.
“Nothing like it! Five hundred and eighty-five dollars, fellows, and as pretty as a picture and runs like a breeze! Can you beat that?”
They couldn’t, and said so over and over. “It cost eleven hundred new,” Jimmy went on. “It was bought by a grocery firm over in Brooklyn, the fellow told me, and they ran it around for about three months and then traded it in for a bigger car. Got a three-ton truck instead. It was a rare bargain, and that’s all there is about it! And it will be along about the middle of the week. They agreed to put it on the cars Monday. I told ’em if it wasn’t here by Thursday we’d ship it back on ’em. I just want to see Pat Herron’s eyes when he gets his first squint at it!”
“Who pays the freight, Jimmy?” asked Tom practically.
“We do. It’ll be only about fifteen dollars, they said. And we’ll still have a hundred of that seven hundred left. How’s the garage coming on, Tom?”
“Fine. They’ve got the old tracks all up and the carpenter said he’d have the new flooring finished by to-night. By the way, they were going to lug offthat truck thing and I told them they couldn’t do it until they’d talked with you.”
“That’s right. I guess we rented that with the building and we might as well keep it. I don’t know as it will be any good to us, but it might be. Have they done any glazing yet?”
“Glazing? Oh, the windows! No, not yet. I guess they’ll start on that Monday. We’ll have to have a telephone, won’t we?”
“Yes. And electric light and power, too. I’ll see about that the first thing Monday. We’ve got to get busy next week. What are you going to do with that horse and wagon, fellows?”
“Well, the horse isn’t ours, you know. I suppose Saunders would give us something for the wagon.”
“Better hold on to it, I guess,” said Jimmy thoughtfully. “There might come a time when we’d need it. If this auto truck got out of whack we’d be glad of something to haul baggage in. Probably we could find a horse somewhere. We’ll stow the wagon in a corner of the garage for the present. There’s another thing, too. Oughtn’t we to advertise pretty soon and say that we are ready to do business? Quinby, the grocer, has just ordered a delivery auto and I told him about the garage the other day and he was mighty tickled. He was going to keep it with Connors, but when I told him we’d have facilities for making repairsand keeping it washed and all, you know, he said right off he’d keep it with us. So there’s a starter!”
“I suppose an advertisement in theNews-Patriotwould be a good idea,” said Tom. “You know, anyhow, Will, we promised Spider we’d put an ad in the paper the time he had his father publish that article about us!”
“Yes, we could do that,” Willard agreed. “And we could have some cards printed and distributed around town, too. How about a sign for the garage, Jimmy?”
“We’ll cover it with signs,” replied Jimmy. “And we’ll get a painter to put ‘C. T. & G. Co.’ on the car and the truck. We’ll do it right, fellows. Well, I must turn in. I didn’t get much sleep last night. Went to a theater and saw a peach of a show; ‘The Brigand’s Bride,’ it was called. Then I dreamed of it all night! I’ll meet you to-morrow at four-thirty at the garage, fellows. Good night.” Jimmy followed them to the head of the stairs. “Say, what’s that noise down there?” he asked suddenly. “Sounds as though you’d left your engine running, Tom!”
“Great Scott!” Tom bounded down the stairs three steps at a time and disappeared through the front door, leaving Jimmy and Willard chuckling on the landing.
“Another gallon of gas gone!” laughed Willard. “I guess Tom was too excited to remember to turn off his switch. Good night, Jimmy. You certainly did finely for us!”
“Just wait till you see it!” chuckled Jimmy. “She’s some little auto, believe me, Will!”