AN 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 had been 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 members of 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 traveler handed 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’s shop 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 through the 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. “He says 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 enough influence 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.