A NEW FRIEND
[Illustration: “I’VE MADE IT!” PANTED BEN HARDY.]
“I’ve made it!” panted Ben Hardy, with a swing landing both feet
safely on the platform of the last car of the speeding train.
“Now to find my man,” he added, pausing a moment or two to catch his
breath and then entering the coach.
Ben had the name of the man well in mind to whom he was to deliver
the machine parts. He also recalled the vague description given of
the man by Mr. Saxton. The lad glanced casually at the occupants of
the seats on each side of the coach as he proceeded down the aisle of
the car.
No tall bearded man with eye glasses showed up, and gaining the front
platform of the coach Ben took up the package where it had landed and
entered the next car.
“Fare, there,” pronounced the conductor of the train, confronting him.
“Oh, yes,” said Ben with a smile, resting his package on a radiator
and producing the quarter Mr. Saxton had given him. “Ought to
keep it to frame as a souvenir, I suppose,” added Ben to himself
comically, “but it happens to be all the money I’ve got. First stop,
conductor—the junction, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll go that far. Take fifteen cents out of that,” directed Ben,
producing the reward coin.
“It’s twenty-five cents if you don’t have a ticket,” announced the
conductor, “ten cents extra, that’s the rule.”
“That’s so,” said Ben with a wry grimace.
“You’d ought to have thought of that,” suggested the conductor.
“I didn’t have much time to think of anything except getting aboard
this train double quick,” answered Ben. “You don’t happen to know a
gentleman named Mr. Davis, do you, conductor?”
The fare collector shook his head in dissent and proceeded on his
round of duty to the rear coach. Ben took up his package again and
began to scan the passengers beyond him.
“That twenty-five cent piece ought to have turned out counterfeit
to carry out the fun of the thing,” smiled Ben. “There’s a likely
prospect—I think it is my man,” added the youth, fixing his eyes upon
a person occupying a double seat near the front of the coach.
This individual had a heavy beard, was tall and athletic, wore eye
glasses, and was acting excited and nervous. He would glance from
his car window and then ahead and back in the coach, and half arose
as if to go in search of a train official to ask some important
question.
As Ben approached the seats he occupied, he noticed a book of
mechanical drawings lying open against the front cushions. Also
leaning against the seat were several quite long parcels. The ends of
these showed what Ben took to be rods or bars. The man was certainly
in the mechanical line, Ben reasoned, and he advanced without
hesitation.
“Is this Mr. Davis?” he inquired politely.
“Yes, that’s me,” responded the other, turning quickly and fixing an
eager glance on his questioner.
“Glad to have found you,” said Ben. “I am from the Saxton Automobile
Works, and this is for you.”
Mr. Davis was so glad to receive the machine part that he took it
from Ben’s hands and held it under his own arm as if it were some
precious treasure.
“Good for you!” he exclaimed heartily, a pleasant smile chasing
away the anxiety on his face. “I was worrying over it, I tell you.
I simply had to have it to-day. Here, sit down. I fancy you’ve been
doing some fast running, eh?”
“A little,” rejoined Ben with a laugh. “It was jolly, though. You
see, a fellow likes to beat a hard task just for practice once in a
while.”
Ben sank to a seat greatly enjoying the relief from a severe strain.
His companion looked at him with interest and remarked:
“I was afraid that part wasn’t going to reach me. Thought it was
strange, too, for I had been very explicit in my directions. I told
the Saxton people to spare no expense so I got it in time. As it was
a sort of test as to what you folks could do and meant lots of work
for your shop in the future, I counted on the right work on time.”
The speaker unpacked the part. Ben knew something about machinery,
and observed that it was a double eccentric with several complicated
attachments. He recognized it as a class of work always given into
his father’s expert hands. It was exquisitely turned, jointed and
polished.
“Neat as the works of a watch, eh?” said Mr. Davis admiringly.
“That’s what I call fine work.”
“My father always does fine work,” said Ben, with a tinge of pride.
“Oh, your father had a hand in this, did he?” questioned Mr. Davis.
“I think so—yes, I am sure of it,” answered Ben, inspecting the part.
“I remember him mentioning it as something outside of the usual run,
and wondering what it was to be used for.”
“It is a part of the machinery of my new airship,” explained Mr.
Davis.
“Oh, say, is that it?” ejaculated Ben with great animation, and his
eyes wandering to the open book on the seat before him, he scanned
with interest the outlines of an aeroplane.
“Pleases you, does it?” interrogated his companion.
“Immensely,” acknowledged Ben. “My father is the head mechanic at the
Saxton works, and he is an inventor, too. He has got up any number of
new improvements on the Estrelle car.”
“I would like to know him,” said Mr. Davis. “I am glad to know you.
Let me see, what is your name?”
“Hardy—Ben Hardy.”
“Do you work at the Saxton plant, too, Ben?”
“No, sir,” answered Ben, “but I spend a good deal of my spare time
there. Father works there, you see, and I like machinery.”
“How did you come to bring the machine part to me?”
“I happened to be around, and there was no one else to send at the
time. The reason it was delayed was that the engine at the works went
wild.”
“Is that so? Tell me about it.”
Ben had not calculated on a casual remark leading to a particular
explanation. Before he was aware of it he had pretty nearly recited
the whole story of the belt mishap at the Saxton shop.
“They ought to do something pretty fine for you, those people,”
suggested Mr. Davis. “I am certainly very much obliged to you for
your share in getting this machine part to me. I suppose some day
you will go to work at the Saxton plant?”
“I am making drafting a special study,” replied Ben, “and I would
like to start in at the model desk in the pattern rooms after school
is over.”
“Do you follow after your father in the invention line, Ben?” asked
Mr. Davis seriously.
“I would like to,” answered Ben. “I hardly think it is in me, though,
Mr. Davis. I once got up a perpetual motion machine.”
Mr. Davis smiled, so did Ben.
“Yes,” nodded the latter gaily, “it perpetuated until I had to start
it again. The only practical thing I ever did was a whistle which I
made out of a simple piece of tin.”
“Patented it, did you?”
“Oh, dear, no,” explained Ben. “I made it for a friend of mine. He
could warble on it like a mocking bird. I never saw anybody else who
could, though. There was a certain knack about it that he could get,
it seemed. Can I look over that book, Mr. Davis?”
Ben was soon immersed in the drawings before him. His companion
seemed greatly pleased at his interest in them. Once or twice, too,
he took occasion to commend Ben for some comment or suggestion he
made concerning the models.
“Why,” he said as they came to the last drawing of a superb machine,
“you seem to have done some digging in the aeroplane line.”
“Oh, all I know is second hand,” declared Ben. “My father believes
that the coming motor is the aeroplane, and has done some
experimenting in that line. I have taken a great delight in watching
him and helping him. I will have to leave the train in a few minutes,
Mr. Davis,” he added. “There is the whistle for the junction now, and
I will have to get back to Woodville.”
“Two things, Ben,” said Mr. Davis as he rose from the seat. “It is a
big thing for me to get that machine part on time. Here is something
for your trouble,” and he handed out a folded bank note.
“Oh, no,” dissented Ben, arising quickly.
“Oh, yes,” insisted Mr. Davis. “Here’s the second thing,” and he
pressed a card into Ben’s hand after writing something on its back.
“I want you to ask your father to let you come down to the big aero
meet at Blairville next week. That card will admit you anywhere about
the grounds. I shall be in great evidence there, to speak modestly,”
smiled Mr. Davis, “and I will take pleasure in showing you some
things that will set that active head of yours buzzing for a spell.”
Ben’s eyes glowed over the welcome invitation.
“I don’t know anything that would give me more pleasure than to see
those airships go up,” said the youth.
“Be sure to come—I shall expect you,” declared Mr. Davis, shaking
hands warmly.
“Here’s luck!” exclaimed Ben, as he alighted on the junction
platform, ran across it, and got aboard a train just starting in an
opposite direction for Woodville, the conductor of which he knew very
well, and who had the privilege of passing friends short distances.
He had calculated on a two-hours’ wait at the junction, and here was
the afternoon accommodation train, twenty minutes late, but just in
time to start him homeward bound without a minute’s delay.
Ben reached Woodville and went up to the automobile works at once. It
lacked half an hour of quitting time, and he decided he had better
report the safe delivery of the machine part at the office. Besides
that, he would have a chance to walk home with his father.
“Oh, it’s you?” observed Mr. Saxton, as he entered the office.
“Yes, sir,” replied Ben.
“Did you deliver the parcel to Mr. Davis?”
“I did, Mr. Saxton. I managed to just catch the train on the fly.”
“How was that?”
Ben explained.
“Then you had to go clear to the junction?”
“Or jump off,” smiled Ben.
“H’m—cost you fifteen cents, then?”
“No, sir, a quarter. You see there’s an extra ten cents when you do
not buy your ticket in advance.”
“H’m!” again commented the manufacturer. “You ought to get back that
rebate. Here, Smith,” to the bookkeeper, “give Hardy twenty-five
cents.”
“Oh, no,” dissented Ben, and Saxton brightened up magically. “Mr.
Davis insisted on giving me five dollars.”
“He did, eh?” spoke Jasper Saxton thoughtfully.
“Yes, sir. He was very glad to get the machine part, and insisted on
paying me for what he called my trouble.”
“Very good. Glad. That is—h’m—you see—quite right, Hardy.”
At first Ben fancied that Jasper Saxton was going to suggest that
he divide up the five dollars with the company. However, Mr. Saxton
dismissed him with a wave of the hand and Ben went in search of his
father.
He recited his recent experience, showed him the five-dollar bill
with some pride in his face, and told his father he would wait till
quitting time and go home with him.
“I’m afraid we’ll have to change that programme, Ben,” advised Mr.
Hardy.
“How is that, father?”
“Mr. Saxton wants the engine overhauled and that shaft reset, and I
will have to put in a few hours extra time, so I shall not go home
till later.”
“What about supper, father?” inquired Ben.
“Oh, I’ll pick up something at a restaurant.”
“Mother will insist on sending something to you, I know,” prophesied
Ben.
“Well, I won’t say that home cooking wouldn’t suit me best,”
confessed Mr. Hardy.
Ben started from the shop, when Caleb Dunn hailed him with the words:
“Hold on there, young man.”
“All right,” responded Ben, smiling.
The foreman gained Ben’s side. He drew a shop-soiled sheet of paper
from the pocket of his working blouse.
“Every man in the shop,” he announced.
“Every man what?” queried Ben.
“Name signed to the document.”
“What for?”
“Subscription.”
“Oh!” said Ben, guessing and flushing.
“Understand, do you?” demanded the iron fisted, warm hearted foreman
with a grim chuckle. “Testimonial—Watch—Open face—Solid gold—Get out.”
He gave Ben a shove and shook his fist playfully at him, and the boy
went on his way laughing and feeling joyful.
Ben had to tell the story of the day’s experience all over again
when he reached home. His mother said little, as between the lines
she read the noble impulses that had actuated the good son of a good
father in striving to do his duty and be of benefit to others. She
kissed him fondly, however, and her eyes were moist and loving as
after supper he started for the works with the basket of food she had
prepared for Mr. Hardy.
Ben found the works closed down and his father overhauling some
tools, ready to set at work when the foreman, who lived near by,
returned from his supper. Mr. Hardy said that they would finish their
work by about ten o’clock.
“Let me come up about nine o’clock and watch around, father, and go
home with you,” suggested Ben.
“I am always glad of your company, my son,” said Mr. Hardy.
“All right, I’ll be here,” said Ben.
He did not go directly home. It was a pleasant evening, and Ben
leisurely strolled about the downtown streets, taking in the sights
of the liveliest hour of the day among the stores.
“Hello!” he said, quickening his steps as he caught the sound of
music, and following its source he noticed a crowd gathered about a
corner curb.
As Ben neared the group he discovered a street piano mounted on
wheels, being operated by a man. Standing by him was his partner. The
latter had a piece of tin between his lips. Keeping in tune with the
hurdy gurdy, he was producing beautiful liquid notes that rang out
clear and musical as the soaring notes of a lark.
The crowd was enchanted. The music was novel and harmonious. The
whistle gave out notes as clear and pure as those of a flute.
The tune ended. Ben Hardy watched the whistler remove the piece of
tin from between his lips. As he did so Ben started forward, his eyes
fixed upon the little device intently.
“Why!” exclaimed Ben in profound astonishment, “that is the very
whistle I invented for Bob Dallow.”