THE BIG CAR
"What kind of a car have you in mind, Dick?"
"Get a six cylinder, anyhow."
Dick Hamilton looked at Paul and Innis, who were in the parlor car with
him, speeding on to New York.
"I haven't exactly made up my mind," answered the young millionaire. "I
want a powerful car; if we're going to cross the Rockies I'll need
power. But I want a comfortable one, too. It wants to be enclosed, and
so arranged that if we have to we can sleep in it."
"Say, you want a traveling hotel; don't you?" asked Paul.
"Something like that, yes," assented Dick. "But I don't want such a
heavy machine that we'll be having tire trouble all the time. I'm not
going to make up my mind as to any particular car until I see what kinds
there are in the Garden."
The boys talked of many things as the train sped on. Dick had engaged
rooms for himself and his friends at the hotel where he and his father
always stopped on coming to the metropolis, and a few hours more would
see them at their destination.
The porter came up to Dick, his honest black and shining face wearing a
broad grin, as he remarked:
"'Scuse me, but does one ob yo' gen'mans own a bulldog what is in de
baggage car?"
"I do!" exclaimed Dick, quickly. "What about him?"
"Den yo' presence am earnestly requested up dere by de baggageman," went
on the porter.
"Is Grit hurt?" demanded the young millionaire.
"No, sah, leastaways he wasn't when I seed him. He were feelin' mighty
peart!"
"Then what's the trouble?" asked Dick, as he prepared to follow the
colored man to the car ahead.
"Why dere's a man in de car, an' yo' dog won't let him go out."
"Won't let him go out?" asked Dick, wonderingly.
"No, sah! He jest completely won't let him go out ob dat car, and he's
keepin' him right by de do, so de baggage man can't slide out no trunks,
no how. An' we's comin' to a station soon, where dem trunks hab jest
natchally gotter be put off."
"I'll see what's the matter," promised Dick, hurrying on. "Be back in a
minute," he called to his chums.
"If you want any help, send for us!" suggested Paul, "though," he added
in a lower voice, "if Grit is on a rampage I'd rather not
interfere--that is, personally."
Dick found matters as the porter had described. A rather flashily
dressed young man stood close against one of the side doors of the
baggage car, while Grit, who had broken his chain, stood in front of
him, with his bowed front legs far apart, and his black lips drawn back
from his teeth. From time to time the bulldog growled menacingly,
especially whenever the young man moved. The baggageman, with a puzzled
expression on his face, had placed some trunks in the middle of the car,
ready to be put out of the side door when the next station stop should
be reached.
"But every time I try to get out of the way," said the flashily dressed
man, "this confounded dog of yours acts as if he was going to eat me up.
I daren't move. Call him off or I'll kick him, and break his jaw."
"I wouldn't," said Dick, quietly. "It would probably be your last
kick--with that foot, anyhow."
"Something has to be done," declared the baggage man. "I must put these
trunks off soon. That door's on the station side, and the other door
opens against a high concrete wall. I can't get a trunk off there."
"I'll take care of Grit," said Dick. "What did you do to him?" he asked
the young fellow.
"Nothing."
"Oh, yes you did," said Dick, quietly. "Grit doesn't act that way for
nothing. Come here," he called, and the dog obeyed, though with fierce
backward glances at the man by the door. "Now you can move," went on
Dick. "What did they do to you, old fellow?" he asked, as he bent over
his pet. Grit's neck was bleeding slightly where his collar had cut him
as he wrenched against the chain, and broke it.
"He pulled his tail--that's what he did," asserted the now relieved
baggageman. "I told him to let the dog alone, for I saw it was a
thoroughbred, and was nervous. But he got funny with the animal, and
then your dog broke loose, and drove him against the door."
"You're lucky he didn't bite you," said Dick, as he loosened the chafing
collar. "He only wanted to teach you a lesson, I guess. Next time don't
fool with a bulldog."
"If he'd a' bit me I'd a' had the law on you," threatened the young man,
as he hurried out of the car, followed by the resentful glare of Grit.
"All right," assented Dick. "Only I guess you might have had to wait
until you came out of the hospital. It was your own fault. Will he be
all right with you?" he asked of the baggage man, referring to Grit.
"Oh, yes, he and I are good friends. I was in another part of the car,
making out some records, or I'd have stopped that young idiot from
pinching his tail. But he got all that was coming to him. He was mighty
scared. I thought it best to send for you, though."
"That was right. Grit, old man, I can't blame you, but try and hold
yourself in," said Dick, patting his pet.
The dog whined, and licked his master's hands, and then, having made
sure that Grit and the baggageman would get along well together, Dick
left his pet, having brought him some water, and bound up the cut on his
neck with a spare handkerchief.
Grit whined lonesomely as Dick left, and the young millionaire called
back:
"It'll only be a little while now, old fellow. We'll soon be at the
hotel."
Grit's joy was unbounded when he was released from the car, and soon
with his master, and the latter's two chums, was speeding across New
York in a taxicab. Arrangements were made at the hotel to have Grit
cared for, and he was to be allowed in Dick's room at certain times
during the day, the young millionaire having ascertained that no nervous
old ladies were near enough to be annoyed.
"And now for the auto show!" exclaimed Dick after dinner that night.
"We'll make a preliminary survey, and see what we can find."
Madison Square Garden was a brilliant place, with the thousands of
electric lights, the glittering cars and the decorative scheme, which
was unusually elaborate that year.
"Say, this is great!" gasped Beeby, as the three entered through the
crowd at the doors.
"I should say yes!" added Paul. "It's gorgeous! How are you going to
pick out a car among so many, Dick?"
"Oh, there's only one kind I want. I hope I find it here. But there's no
hurry. Let's look about."
And indeed the sights were well worth viewing. There seemed to be every
kind of car represented, from little runabouts to palatial enclosed
vehicles that would carry eight persons. And there were trucks, from
small three-wheeled ones, that could be used to deliver a lady's hat, to
monsters that could shift a five-ton safe with ease.
There was the hum of motors, electricity driven, for gasoline was not
allowed in the building on account of the fire danger. There was the
snapping of spark-plugs, some of which were being shown at work under
water, to prove how hard it was to short circuit them. And there was the
crackle of a wireless outfit in use, to demonstrate how it could be
attached to an army-auto in war time.
The boys roved about the big space, visiting exhibit after exhibit.
Several times Dick thought he saw what he wanted, but he always decided
to look further, in the hope of finding something a little better.
As he and his chums passed a place where they had lingered long over
some beautiful enclosed cars, powerful and efficient with many new
appliances, Dick's eye was caught by a big car standing by itself in an
open space. It was painted dark green, and for a moment its size almost
made Dick believe it was a sort of dummy, used for advertisement
purposes.
Then, as he saw the heavily tired wheels and caught a glimpse of the
engine under the open hood, he exclaimed:
"That's the car for me, boys!"
The three crowded closer to the big auto, and their wonder grew as they
noted how it was fitted out.