THE FIRST PASSENGER
Discouragement didn’t last long, however. After they had dropped Jerry
and Teddy they turned back into Linden Street and stopped at a sign
painter’s. After some bargaining the proprietor agreed to paint them
a small cardboard sign for fifty cents and have it ready by half-past
one. “Any Part of the City, 25 Cents” was the legend decided on. Then
it was dinner time and Willard dropped out at his house and Tom took
The Ark back to Cross Street.
The sign was ready for them when they called for it, but it was still
pretty sticky. The painter looped a cord through it so they could hang
it from the car and they went off in high spirits to meet the 1:57.
They were confronted by something of a problem. If they secured any
passengers from that train and took them uptown they couldn’t possibly
get back in time to meet the 2:06.
“What we need,” said Willard with a laugh, “is another automobile.”
“Maybe,” Tom answered, “but I’m wondering whether we haven’t got one
too many as it is. If we can’t get folks to ride with us――――”
“Shucks! We’ll have all the business we can handle as soon as folks
find out about us.”
“Well, we won’t worry about the 2:06 train yet. I dare say we won’t get
anyone from the 1:57. If we don’t we can wait there for the other.”
As they reached the station early they had their choice of locations
along the platform and were nicely installed when Connors’ hack drove
up. But instead of taking a position in front or behind The Ark the
driver stopped alongside.
“Hey, you can’t stand there,” he announced truculently.
“Why can’t we?” asked Willard.
“Because that’s my place, that’s why.”
“There’s plenty of room ahead there,” answered Willard. “Help yourself.”
“Is that so? Smart, ain’t you? Get out o’ that now afore I has ye
arrested.”
Willard looked enquiringly at Tom, and the latter shook his head.
The Connors surrey drove up and the driver of it stopped to hear the
discussion. The hack driver appealed to him.
“Johnny, these fellers think they have a right to stand here. What’ll I
do with them?”
“Put ’em out,” was the laconic reply. The other viewed the automobile
doubtfully, evidently at a loss how to proceed. Finally he drove on,
tossed down his reins and entered the station. A moment later he
returned accompanied by the station agent. The latter came up to Tom
and Willard. He was a small man with weak eyes and a sandy mustache and
a nervous, querulous manner. He was evidently annoyed at being called
from his duties.
“You can’t have that thing here,” he announced hurriedly. “Connors, the
livery man, has the privilege for the station.”
“Do you mean that he owns the whole platform?” demanded Tom.
“I mean he’s the only one can stand here. You’re after passengers,
ain’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Well, you’ll have to keep away from the platform then unless you’ve
got permission from the railroad. So move on now!”
“How do we get permission?” asked Willard.
“I don’t know. Put in an application. Write to the Division
Superintendent in Providence. I don’t care what you do. I can’t stand
here all day. Move along, can’t you?”
“Connors doesn’t own the road, too, does he?” demanded Tom.
“He doesn’t own anything,” replied the agent exasperatedly. “But he
has the sole right to use this platform to get business. You can stand
anywhere you like, I guess, as long as you get out of here.”
“He ain’t got no right anywhere around here,” broke in the driver of
the hack. “He’s tryin’ to get our trade away, he is. You wait till I
tell Connors about it!”
“Oh, tell Connors and be blowed!” said Willard inelegantly. “Go on,
Tom, move her across to the other side of the road. I’ll find out if
Connors is the only one who can come near their old station.”
Tom started the car, went down to the freight house, turned around
and then took up a position across the dusty road, the rival drivers
looking on triumphantly. Meanwhile several private teams had appeared
and it was almost time for the train. The driver of the hack, whose
name, as they subsequently learned, was Pat Herron, still resented
their presence and kept up a conversation with the surrey driver loud
enough for the boys to hear.
“Who’d be after ridin’ in a thing like that, I’m askin’! Why, believe
me, Johnny, it’ll fall to pieces if you give it a kick.”
“I would but I’ve got a sore foot,” answered Johnny with a grin. “I
s’pose now that was the first one was ever built, Pat?”
“’Twas an experiment, Johnny. They made that just to see how they
shouldn’t do it, me boy. Look at the fine lines of it, will ye? ’Tis a
racy lookin’ contraption!”
“Oh, dry up!” muttered Tom. “There comes the train, Will. Come on.”
They hung the sign from a bracket as they got out, Connors’ men
guffawing at the sight of it, and walked over to the platform. It was
soon evident that Pat and Johnny were not satisfied with their victory,
for whenever the boys tried to secure a passenger for The Ark one or
another of the livery men was at hand to discourage the hesitating
customer.
“Sure, sir, you’ll be killed if you ride in his autymobul! ’Tain’t a
real car, sir. An’ look at what’s goin’ to drive ye, sir! Sure ’tis
certin death, sir!”
But in spite of it all Tom actually secured a passenger, a well-dressed,
middle-aged man who carried no luggage, and who seemed in a big hurry.
“All right, all right,” he said testily. “Where’s your car? I’m in a
rush. Get me to the paper mills as quick as you can.”
“Right across the road, sir,” directed Tom, searching the platform with
his eyes to see if Willard had been as fortunate. But Willard returned
alone and the three hurried across to the car. Tom slipped the sign
off, opened the tonneau door for the passenger and sprang to his seat.
Willard cranked up and in a moment they were off.
Their passenger, sitting impatiently upright, frowned at his watch.
“Hurry it up now,” he said. “I’m late already. How far is it to the
mills?”
“Not far, sir,” replied Tom. “I’ll have you there in two minutes.”
“See that you do.” The passenger snapped his watch shut and leaned
back. The trip was a bumpy one and dusty, since their way led them up
River Street for a block and then to the right into the extension of
Meadow Street and thence into Railroad Avenue, a thoroughfare little
better than an alley and traversed principally by trucks.
“What sort of roads do you call these?” asked the passenger disgustedly
as he tossed around on the back seat.
“Pretty bad, sir,” replied Willard. “The best way is up through the
town, but you said you were in a hurry and so――――”
“Yes, yes! All right!”
Bumping and jouncing, her springs protesting loudly, The Ark skirted
the end of the railroad yards, turned at a sharp angle where the way
resembled a dump more than a road, and finally pulled up within a
hundred feet of the mills. It was impossible to get any nearer, but the
boys showed the passenger the gate through the high board fence and,
with a grunt of disgust, he leaped out, fumbling in his pocket.
“What’s the fare?” he demanded.
“Twenty-five cents, sir.”
“Twenty-five cents――twenty-five cents――Here’s a half a dollar; smallest
I’ve got.”
“I’m afraid――――” Tom looked at Willard enquiringly―――― “I’m afraid,
sir, I haven’t the change.”
“Didn’t ask for it,” replied the man over his shoulder. “Be back here
at three sharp. I want to get the accommodation to Eustis. Don’t
forget!”
Tom viewed the half-dollar radiantly. “I think we ought to keep this,
Will,” he said. “It’s the first money, you know.”
“All right,” laughed Willard. “Put it away. And now let’s go and make
some more. If we hurry we may get there in time for the 2:06.”
Tom jammed his lever in and they jolted recklessly back the way they
had come, Willard clutching the seat desperately to keep from being
tossed out. As Tom had very nearly kept his promise to reach the mill
in two minutes, they were able to return to the station before the
west-bound train, which was fortunately two or three minutes late, had
arrived. They might as well have spared themselves the trouble and
saved the gasoline that they consumed in making the trip, for, although
at least two dozen persons got off the 2:06, not one patronized the
Benton and Morris Transportation Company’s vehicle. The 2:06 was almost
the only train with which the trolley line made any sort of connection.
If the express came in on time or merely a minute or two late the
trolley car was there at the foot of River Street and, of course,
offered a cheap and speedy way of reaching the center of town. To-day
the car caught the bulk of the arrivals, while a few walked and some
eight or ten piled into Connors’ vehicles. Only The Ark failed to get
its share.
“I guess the trouble is,” said Willard when the station had settled
down to quiet again, “that they can’t see the auto.”
“That isn’t it,” replied Tom. “They’re so used to giving their luggage
and their checks to Connors’ drivers that they can’t get it into their
heads that there might be someone else around. If there was only some
way to advertise!”
“Advertising costs money. Besides, how would we do it? Or where?”
Oddly enough that question was in a manner quickly settled for them.
Willard had scarcely finished when Spider Wells, much out of breath and
very red of face, panted up to the platform where the partners were
seated on a baggage truck.
“Gee, I was afraid I’d miss you fellows!” gasped Spider, mopping his
heated brow as he swung himself to the truck beside Tom.
“It’s nice to be missed,” murmured Willard.
“I want to ride back with you,” continued Spider. “Jerry was telling me
about the dandy ride he had this morning. He’s chopping kindling now
for his mother. She’s going to give him a quarter if he chops all the
afternoon and he’s going to have another ride.”
Spider put his hand in a trousers pocket, pulled it out again and
opened it under Tom’s nose. “I brought my quarter with me, Tom.”
The boys laughed and Willard said: “Sorry, Spider, but I guess you had
your walk for nothing. We’re not going back to town until after the
3:14 goes through.”
Spider’s face fell. “You’re not? Why?”
Tom explained. Spider’s mild blue eyes blinked. Then,
“Well, what time is it now?” he asked.
“Twenty-five past two,” responded Willard, leaning back so that he
could see the clock in the waiting-room through the nearest window.
Spider sighed with relief.
“That’s all right then,” he said. “I’ll wait. There isn’t anything
going on to-day, anyway.”
“Isn’t the team playing Cold Spring this afternoon?” Tom enquired.
“Yes, but it costs ten cents each way on the trolley and I thought I’d
rather have a ride in your automobile. Besides, Cold Spring hasn’t any
sort of a team. I saw Jimmy Lippit this morning and he said we’d win
easily. Jimmy’s going to play to-day. Jordan’s gone away for a month;
gone to the beach. Wish I was!”
“Don’t be a chump, Spider,” said Tom. “We aren’t going to take your
quarter. You could have gone to Cold Spring and had your ride with us,
too. We didn’t charge Jerry anything――――”
“You didn’t!” Spider’s blue eyes opened wide. “Why, he said you took
him and Teddy down to the station and back again and that the fare was
a quarter each way!”
“So it is,” laughed Willard, “but they didn’t pay it. You hang around
until the 3:14 goes, Spider, and we’ll give you a good ride.”
“Honest? That’s awfully good of you. I――I’m willing to pay, though,
Will. I’ve never ridden in one of those, you know. Have you fellows
been making a lot of money?”
Tom shook his head. “We haven’t got rich yet,” he answered dryly.
“Haven’t taken in more than twenty or thirty dollars to-day.”
Spider’s eyes grew round again until Willard laughed. “The fact is,
Spider,” said Willard, “we can’t get folks to ride with us yet. They’re
so used to riding up with Connors’ men that they don’t even see us.”
“That’s too bad.” Spider frowned. “Couldn’t you――couldn’t you
advertise?”
“Just what Tom suggested. But I told him advertising costs money.
Besides, where would we advertise to catch the folks that travel on the
trains? You see, they come from all around.”
“A lot of them come from right here,” said Tom. “Now, if――――”
“I tell you!” exclaimed Spider. “I’ll get father to put an article in
the paper about you.” Spider’s father was proprietor and editor of the
_News-Patriot_, Audelsville’s principal daily newspaper. “He will do it
if I ask him to and it won’t cost you a cent!”
“Why――――” began Willard.
“I’ll get him to put it in to-morrow morning’s paper,” continued Spider
enthusiastically. “All about how you two fellows bought the automobile
and fixed it up yourselves and are carrying passengers to and from the
station for a quarter, which is twenty-five cents less than Connors
charges, and――and――――” Spider paused, out of breath.
“That would be fine,” said Tom gratefully, “but I don’t know that we
ought to let you do it, Spider. If we could pay for it――――”
“But the paper always prints things about any new――er――industry,”
protested Spider. He pulled a small paper-covered memorandum book from
his pocket, found a pencil with a much chewed point and faced Tom
eagerly. “What’s the name of your company?” he demanded.
Tom told him and Spider wrote laboriously in the book. Finally, “You
look in the _News-Patriot_ to-morrow morning,” he advised triumphantly,
putting his book away. “When you fellows get on your feet and can
afford it you can put an advertisement in; I’ll tell father you said
you would, shall I?”
“Why, yes,” replied Willard doubtfully. “I guess we could do
that――later. And we’re very much obliged, Spider, for what you’re
doing.”
“’Tain’t anything,” said Spider carelessly. “After all, you see it’s
really news, Will; and a paper prints the news anyway, don’t it?”
Willard acknowledged that he presumed it did, and then, as it was
a quarter to three, they started the engine, Spider looking on
interestedly, and chugged away to the paper mills. Spider returned to
the baggage truck to await their return. Their passenger appeared soon
after they had pulled up near the gate in the fence, and Mr. Martin was
with him. The latter, a man of about fifty years, rather tall and very
precisely dressed, accompanied his visitor to the automobile, viewing
the latter with frank curiosity and some amusement, and shook hands as
he said good bye.
“Glad you came up, Mr. Latham,” he said cordially. “Very glad to
have seen you. I don’t think there will be any further trouble about
shipments, now that we understand each other. Sometime when you’re
up this way I wish you’d let me know. I’d like to have you meet Mrs.
Martin and take dinner with us.”
On the way back Mr. Latham seemed to have got over his impatience.
He sat back easily in the tonneau――as easily as the jounces would
allow――and smoked a cigar. At the station, which they reached ten
minutes before the local train was due, Tom stopped the car across the
road from the platform.
“Is this as near as you can take me?” asked the passenger in surprise.
“Yes, sir. We’re not allowed to go up to the platform. Connors, who has
the livery stable here, has the privilege and we have to stand over
here. I’m sorry.”
“Humph!” Mr. Latham stepped down into the dust of the road and pulled
out his pocketbook. “Another of those combinations in restraint of
trade, eh? I think if I were you I’d see if I couldn’t get the road to
give me a stand. Let me see, fifty cents, wasn’t it?”
“Twenty-five, sir,” replied Tom.
“Oh.” Mr. Latham handed over a dollar bill.
“I’ll see if I can get change in the station, sir,” said Tom, getting
out.
“Have you spent that half-dollar already?” asked their passenger with a
smile.
“No, sir, but that’s all I have with me. It won’t take a minute――――”
“Tut, tut! Give me the half and let it go at that. I dare say you’ve
done that much damage to your springs running over that dump.”
“Thank you, sir,” murmured Tom, diving into his pocket for the coin in
question. When he found it he glanced at it regretfully and seemed so
loath to part with it that Mr. Latham noticed it.
“Why, you’re a regular miser, boy,” he laughed. “You just hate to give
up money, don’t you?”
Tom blushed, but Willard thought they owed their benefactor an
explanation. “It isn’t that, sir,” he said. “Tom wanted to keep that
half because it’s the first money we’ve made with the car.”
“Really? You mean that I was your first passenger? That’s quite
interesting, boys. I should feel honored, I’m sure. Then you haven’t
been driving this――this vehicle long?”
“We just started to-day,” said Tom. “We haven’t had much luck yet, sir.”
“Well, it takes time to build up trade. Keep trying; that’s the way to
win, boys. Sorry to deprive you of your half-dollar, but I guess that
bill will do just as well to keep, won’t it?”
“Better,” laughed Tom. “Thank you very much, sir.”
Mr. Latham nodded, smiled, and crossed to the station. Spider, who had
been impatiently walking about the platform, hurried across and climbed
in. “Know who that was, fellows?” he demanded excitedly as Tom swung
The Ark around toward town.
“No, who?” asked Willard.
“That’s H. R. Latham, the First Vice-President of the road.”
“Honest?”
“Sure thing! I’ve seen him two or three times. Funny Mr. Martin didn’t
send his carriage for him, wasn’t it?”
“I sort of think he did,” said Tom softly. “I saw the Martin rig drive
up just as we started away from the train.”
“You did?” exclaimed Willard. “You didn’t say anything about it. Why,
it’s dollars to doughnuts it came for Mr. Latham!”
“That’s what I thought,” answered Tom dryly. “And that’s why I didn’t
say anything. Think I wanted to lose a passenger?”
Willard and Spider laughed delightedly. Presently, though, as they
turned up River Street, Willard sighed and then frowned.
“I wish,” he said, “we’d known who he was, Tom. We might have asked him
to let us have a stand at the station.”
“Gee!” said Tom. “That’s so! We might go back, Will?”
But at that instant the train made the crossing, and so Tom, who had
slowed down the car, advanced the throttle lever again and continued on
his way with a sigh for the neglected opportunity.