INTRODUCING JULIUS CÆSAR
Fortune aided them that day. Only three passengers descended from the
11:34, of whom one walked to his destination, one was beguiled into
the hack and the third, a commercial traveler well known to Tom and
Willard, rode uptown in The Ark. Tom had qualms when the man passed
over two checks, but investigation proved the baggage to consist of a
couple of sample-cases which could be easily transported in the car.
The 1:57 brought more fares but no trunks, while, as for the 2:06, that
train fairly deluged the station with travelers and baggage. Luckily,
however, Jerry and Spider had already assumed their duties. Mr. Lippit
had announced himself quite willing to have Tom and Willard use Julius
Cæsar for his keep. He was to remain in his own stable, Tom and Willard
were to provide feed and bedding, Jerry was to continue his duties as
stableman, and the wagon, when secured, was to be kept in the Lippits’
back-yard under the partial protection of a big apple-tree. (The
carriage-room already held Mr. Lippit’s side-bar buggy and a two-seated
sleigh, and there was no possibility of squeezing the wagon in.)
Finding the wagon was the next thing, and they went around to Saunders’
Carriage Works. Five second-hand express wagons of various sizes and
styles were exhibited, but Mr. Saunders would not consider renting. In
the end a rather small, light wagon was selected. In spite of the fact
that the body had recently been painted over with a coat of dazzling
green and the running-gear with an equally vivid vermillion, it was
plain to be seen that the vehicle had been much used. Tom expressed a
doubt as to its being strong enough to carry more than one trunk at
a time, but the carriage man assured them that you could put a dozen
trunks in it without hurting it. As a matter of fact, there wasn’t room
for more than eight, no matter how you arranged them, but they let
that pass. Mr. Saunders begged them to observe the springs, which, he
declared, were as strong as they made them. They looked terribly slight
to the boys, as did the axles and the wheels, but they were willing
to be convinced; and, besides, the green and red paint certainly was
stunning!
“Thirty dollars takes her,” said Mr. Saunders cheerfully, “and she’s a
rare bargain at that figure, I can tell you.”
“How much did it cost when it was new?” asked Willard doubtfully.
“Ninety dollars, and cheap at that! Look at the stuff in her. Nothing
cheap about her――except the price!” And Mr. Saunders laughed heartily
at his joke. There was a dismal silence for a minute, during which the
boys walked around and around, viewing the wagon from every possible
angle. Finally,
“Would you mind taking one of the wheels off?” asked Willard quietly.
“I’d like to see the axles.”
“Certainly sure,” replied Mr. Saunders. But he seemed to lack
enthusiasm, a fact quickly explained when, having returned with the
wrench and jack, he slid a rear wheel off. The axle was pretty badly
worn. Mr. Saunders made light of it, however. “’Course it’s worn a
little,” he said. “I ain’t sayin’ she’s perfectly new, am I?”
“Let’s look at a front axle,” suggested Willard. In the end they saw
them all, and there was a whispered council between them. Then,
“We’ll give you fifteen dollars for it,” said Willard firmly.
Mr. Saunders, tightening a nut, laughed harshly.
“I guess you ain’t lookin’ for a wagon, boys; you want a wheel-barrow.
Fifteen dollars wouldn’t hardly pay for the paint on her!”
“All right,” said Willard. “That’s all we’d be willing to pay for that
wagon. She won’t last more than six months, I guess.”
The carriage dealer became indignant, expatiated on the merits of the
vehicle and ended by chopping off five dollars from the first price.
Willard shook his head indifferently and offered eighteen. Mr. Saunders
shrugged his shoulders and started away with his implements. Tom
whispered to Willard to offer him twenty. Willard shook his head. “It’s
his turn now,” he replied.
Having deposited the jack and wrench where they belonged, Mr. Saunders
wandered back again. “I tell you what I’ll do, boys,” he said. “’Tain’t
like you were strangers. You’re customers of mine. I’ll meet you more
than half-way. Take her for twenty-two fifty.”
There was a moment of silence. Jerry was plainly anxious, for he had
set his heart on embarking in the express business. Tom twitched
Willard’s sleeve. “We’d better take it, hadn’t we?” he whispered.
“Tell you what we’ll do, Mr. Saunders,” announced Willard. “We’ll give
you twenty dollars and not a cent more. That’s all it would be worth to
us. What do you say?”
“All right, take her along. If all my customers were like you I’d be in
the poorhouse long ago.”
After that there was just time to hurry to the station in time for the
1:57 and so the rest was left to Jerry and Spider. “You don’t need to
come down until we tell you,” instructed Tom, “because there may not be
any trunks on these trains. But you get Julius Cæsar and haul the wagon
over to your place. Then, if there’s any work to be done, we’ll stop
and let you know.”
But Jerry didn’t intend to miss anything, and somehow he and Spider
managed to hitch the horse to the wagon――luckily Mr. Lippit had a heavy
harness which just suited――and reach the station just as the 2:06
pulled out. Jerry held the reins and Spider sat proudly beside him.
Between the gayly-painted shafts ambled Julius Cæsar. Julius Cæsar had
been a dappled gray at one time, but now he was almost white. He was
short and ridiculously fat and had an absurd way of bobbing his head
up and down as he went. Still, as far as appearances were concerned,
Julius Cæsar was quite a success, and, hitched to the brilliantly-hued
wagon, made a good showing as he ambled and bobbed his way to the
platform. Pat Herron viewed the outfit with surprise and chagrin. Later
on his gift of repartee returned to him, but for a few minutes he was
plainly disconcerted. The Ark was quickly filled, Willard remaining
behind to superintend the loading of the baggage, and chugged away
uptown. Pat Herron, with a last lingering look at the express wagon,
followed after the automobile, and Willard, Jerry and Spider proudly
presented the checks and loaded four big sample trunks. That was a
triumphant journey uptown, Jerry guiding Julius Cæsar, Willard sitting
beside him, and Spider perched on a trunk. The horse was evidently
perturbed. Never before had he been hitched to such a vehicle, and,
doubtless, never before had he been called on to pull so heavy a load.
He resented it and showed it. Every few minutes he turned his head and
looked reproachfully at Jerry. Jerry was heartless.
“Go on, you old antiquity,” Jerry would bawl, with a flick of the whip.
“Think we’ve got all day to do this? Get ap, Cæsar!”
Whereupon Julius Cæsar, nodding a little more vehemently, would change
from a walk to a shuffling trot and maintain the latter until, in
his judgment, Jerry had forgotten his unseemly haste. It took them
fully twenty minutes to reach the hotel, but the journey was filled
with interest. Two small urchins tried to steal a ride and had to be
dislodged with the whip by Spider; Teddy Thurston followed them for
a block on Main Street and offered unsolicited advice on the subject
of driving, and finally descended to sarcasm and rude jesting; Mr.
Wells, emerging from the post-office, stared in alarmed surprise at
the sight of his son personally conducting a load of trunks through
the principal thoroughfare, and, just as they came opposite the Court
House, the fire engine and hose-reel swung around the corner of Pine
Street and almost demolished Julius Cæsar and the new wagon. By some
stroke of good luck Jerry managed to induce Julius Cæsar aside in the
nick of time and the engine passed harmlessly by about two inches from
their hubs! It was at that moment that Spider deserted. He explained
afterwards that he had thought he was going to be killed and had jumped
for safety, but the fact that he didn’t show up again until the fire in
Coakley’s cigar store on Spruce Street had been put out led the others
to believe he had preferred the attractions of the fire to the labor of
unloading trunks.
So the new wagon entered upon a career of usefulness, proudly driven
by Jerry, and protestingly pulled by Julius Cæsar, who, after months
of idleness in a box-stall, infrequently interrupted by an evening jog
through town in front of the side-bar buggy, could have held forth
eloquently on the subject of cruelty to aged horses had he been able
to talk boy-language! At the end of a week Tom and Willard found that,
after paying for feed for the horse and a dollar and a half to Jerry
for his services, they had profited to the extent of four dollars and
twenty-five cents, at which rate, as Willard pointed out, the wagon
would be paid for in a month!
Of course it wasn’t always plain sailing. There was the time when the
new wagon broke down on River Street and its load had to be transferred
to The Ark while it was hauled back to Saunders for a new wheel,
Saunders, to his credit be it said, performing the repair without
charge. And there was the time when Spider mutinied, refusing flatly to
break his back lifting trunks without ever being permitted the fun of
driving. That difficulty was smoothed over by Willard, who persuaded
Jerry to allow Spider to do the driving every other trip. But on the
whole the new arrangement worked very well and in the course of time
Julius Cæsar became reconciled to his new duties and seemed almost to
enjoy them. There were unnumbered verbal battles between Jerry and
Spider, on one side, and Pat Herron and Johnny Green on the other. They
supplied excitement and Jerry was very keen for them. He quite liked
matching his wits against Pat’s and usually came off victorious, as on
one occasion shortly after the new wagon began its duties, when Pat sat
on the box of the hack, Johnny lolled on the seat of Connors’ wagon and
Jerry and Spider drove magnificently up to await the 11:34.
“’Tis a fine horse ye have there,” remarked Pat kindly.
“’Tis so,” responded Jerry.
“And how old might he be, d’ye say?”
“He was four his last birthday.”
“Is it so? Four hundred! Think o’ that now! Sure, he don’t look more’n
a hundred and fifty!”
“I take such good care of him,” said Jerry sweetly. “Every now and
then he gets currycombed, you know.” Jerry glanced interestedly at the
horses hitched to the hack. “Ever try it, Pat, on those old cripples of
yours?”
“’Tis a fine way he has of knobbin’ his head,” returned Pat, ignoring
the aspersion. “By that you’ll be knowin’ he’s not asleep, likely?”
“N-no,” replied Jerry, “he always does that when he’s down here. Funny,
isn’t it? Seems as if he was sort of tired. Bet you anything, Pat, if
you went around the station he’d stop!”
“Is that so? Sure, he was born tired, that horse was. ’Tis a cryin’
shame to drive a beast like that. Let him be to die, why don’t ye?”
“Because if I did,” replied Jerry promptly, “you’d dig him out of his
grave and hitch him to your hack. Is it so that you never take the
harness off those nags, Pat, for fear they’ll fall to pieces?”
Whereupon Pat lost his temper and began to sputter, and before he could
think of a sufficiently caustic response The Ark chugged up and caused
a diversion.
There was another picnic about this time and the transportation company
made the most of it. As, however, it was a Sunday School affair, most
of the participants were children and the automobile was in less demand
than at the previous picnic. Tom and Willard both worked hard that day,
for Jerry and Spider deserted and journeyed to Providence with the
high school baseball team to witness the return match with Providence
Preparatory, and Willard had to drive Julius Cæsar and transport
baggage. To add to Tom’s troubles, a rear tire blew out half-way
between town and the picnic grounds and he was forced to lie up by the
roadside for half an hour while, with the doubtful assistance of two
elderly ladies and a twelve-year-old boy, the old tube and shoe were
taken off and new ones put on. Altogether that Saturday was a busy and
trying day, and Tom was glad to crawl into bed at nine o’clock. Just as
he was falling off into delicious slumber a low but insistent whistle
sounded under his window and he stumbled sleepily over to the casement.
“Tom! That you?” said Jerry’s voice.
“Yes; what is it?”
“I thought you’d like to know how the game came out. We lost, eleven to
three.”
“Glad of it!” growled Tom as, bumping into a chair on the way, he again
sought slumber.