THE ENEMY IN TROUBLE
There were stirring times at the station the next forenoon when Tom
and Willard drove The Ark down to meet the 11:34. The Audelsville High
School Football Team, resplendent in new uniforms and accompanied by
a score or so of enthusiastic friends, awaited the train and in the
interim indulged in the usual frolics to pass the time. Several of the
boys crowded about the automobile and expressed to Tom their regrets
in the matter of his retirement from the team. There were mutinous
grumbles against George Connors and gloomy predictions of defeat at the
hands of the Finley Falls enemy in the absence of Tom. Connors, casting
an occasional glance of amused contempt at The Ark, regaled a group
of his cronies with sallies of wit at the expense of the car. Jerry,
sporting a new and vivid blue necktie, Spider Wells, looking taller and
thinner than ever, and Teddy Thurston, with his perpetual grin, were
much in evidence on the platform. Teddy’s grin from the rear platform
of the last car seemed to float over the scene long after the train had
disappeared.
As it was Saturday Jimmy Brennan had a half-holiday and he devoted it
to work at the garage. They had determined to formally open the place
for business on Monday morning and there were still a dozen little
last things to be attended to. The sill of one of the swinging doors
was rotten and Jimmy laid a new one. Auger holes were bored through
the thick planks of the floor in the corner that was to be devoted to
washing to let the water through. More supplies had arrived, a shipment
of tires and tubes, and these were unpacked and stowed away. It had
been decided to prepare about twenty-five advertisements to be posted
in conspicuous places along the roads leading into Audelsville. For the
purpose Jimmy had obtained that many half-inch boards, ten inches wide
and sixteen inches long, and some heavy brown stencil paper. In the
latter, with the aid of a sharp knife, he cut out the legend: “PUT UP
AT THE CITY GARAGE, AUDELSVILLE.” Willard washed one side of the boards
with a thin coat of white paint and set them outside in the sun to dry.
As soon as the white had set, and as Jimmy had mixed plenty of drier
with it it didn’t take long, the stencil was placed on and a brush
dipped in black paint was flourished back and forth. The result was
quite astonishing, for the signs looked as though they had come from a
sign-painter’s. There was so much to be done and it was such fun doing
it that it was past supper time when Tom tore himself away, promising
to meet Willard there at seven o’clock――Jimmy was going to Graywich by
trolley that evening to visit a friend and spend the night――and hurried
home through the twilighted September evening. He expected to be late,
but when he reached the house he found his father and mother in the
sitting room. It only needed a glance at their faces to tell him that
something was wrong.
“I guess I’m late,” he said uneasily, when he had hung up his hat.
“There was so much to do at the garage, ma, that I didn’t know how late
it was.”
“Supper is late to-night,” replied Mrs. Benton. “I’ll get it now.
Your――your father has something to tell you, Tom, dear.”
Mrs. Benton hurried out to the kitchen and Tom took a seat and viewed
his father anxiously. Mr. Benton asked what Tom had been doing at
the garage, but seemed to pay small attention to the replies, and it
wasn’t difficult to see that he was postponing a disagreeable subject.
At last, however, “Tom, Connors was around to see me yesterday,” he
announced. “And――and I had a talk with him again to-day.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Tom, frowning expectantly.
“You know――or maybe you don’t know it, son――that my postmastership
ends pretty soon and there’ll be a new appointment. Well, Connors has
a good deal to say about it. He――he’s a kind of political boss in this
district. I guess you don’t understand much about politics, Tom, but
the fact is that unless Connors says I’m to be reappointed I――I won’t
be.”
“But――but I thought the President appointed the postmasters, sir,” said
Tom.
“He does nominally. That is, he appoints the man the local political
machine wants him to. Well, the local machine is ruled by William
Connors and he tells me that they’re thinking of making a change.”
“What for, sir? Haven’t you done all right? Why, I thought every one
liked you, dad! And――and Connors himself said just the other day that
you and he were great pals!”
Mr. Benton smiled sadly. “Friendship doesn’t stand for much, Tom, in
politics; or, anyway, in one kind of politics.”
“So you think he will go against you, sir?”
“Yes, unless――――” Mr. Benton paused and frowned. “I guess there’s no
use beating about the bush, son. What Connors means is that unless
you give up this automobile business he will see that I don’t get
back. That’s the thing in a nutshell. Of course,” continued Mr. Benton
hurriedly, “I don’t ask you to do it, son. I guess it would be a hard
blow to you. The only thing is that――well, I don’t know just what we’d
do if I lost my position, Tom!”
“So that’s what he meant when he threatened us!” flared Tom. “It’s the
dirtiest trick I ever heard of! Do you mean to say that he can put you
out of the post-office to――to revenge himself on me?”
“I’m afraid he can,” replied Mr. Benton sadly. “And he means to do it.
I talked with him again to-day and he was pretty plain.”
“But――but there are other men who have influence around here, aren’t
there, sir? Why don’t you go to them and tell them what Connors is
threatening to do? I’ll bet they wouldn’t stand for it a minute!”
“You don’t know the sort of politics Bill Connors plays, son,” returned
his father. “He’s boss around here and the others do about as he tells
them to. And unless I have the backing of his crowd I’ll never get a
reappointment. No, there’s no use whining. I’ve got to meet Connors’
demands or get out.”
Tom sat silent and dismayed for a moment. Then, “Well, let him do it,
sir!” he exclaimed. “I’ll be making enough money for all of us in a
few months. Why, Jimmy says we can clear five thousand dollars a year
pretty soon!”
“I hope he is right,” said Mr. Benton, “but that’s to be seen, Tom.
Meanwhile, I’ve got to decide matters. I――I suppose you’d feel pretty
bad if you had to give up the business, son?”
“I――yes, sir,” muttered Tom, “I guess I should. We――we’re just getting
everything going nicely.” After a moment’s pause: “Besides, sir, if I
got out that wouldn’t stop the business, would it? Will and Jimmy could
keep on just the same, couldn’t they?”
“I suppose Connors means that you’re to persuade the others to give it
up, too,” replied Mr. Benton with a sigh. “That wouldn’t be difficult,
I guess?”
“No, sir, I suppose not,” replied Tom miserably.
There was silence in the room for several minutes. Mrs. Benton, moving
quietly about the dining-room, glanced in anxiously now and then. At
last, “Well, if it’s the only thing to do,” said Tom bravely, “I――we’ll
have to do it, sir.” He smiled somewhat tremulously and got up. “I
guess I’ll go upstairs and wash,” he murmured.
“I wish it wasn’t necessary,” said his father troubledly. “I――I feel
mighty bad about it, son.”
“I guess it won’t kill me,” answered Tom, trying to grin.
“Well――anyhow, we don’t have to decide to-night; we’ll think it over,
son. Maybe――to-morrow――――”
“I guess thinking it over won’t make it any easier,” answered Tom
wisely. “It’ll have to be done, I guess. Only――only I’d like to kill
Connors!” And he hurried out of the room so that his father would not
see the angry tears in his eyes.
Supper was a lugubrious meal that evening. The subject was not spoken
of again and Mrs. Benton tried to be cheerful and make her husband and
son forget for the time the trouble confronting them, but she received
little assistance from the others, and they were all relieved when,
just as Mrs. Benton was serving the preserved strawberries, there was
a loud peal of the door-bell, and, before Tom could jump up to answer
it, the door crashed open and Mr. Connors strode into the sitting-room
beyond. Tom, on his feet, napkin in hand, stared as the liveryman
strode forward to the dining-room door. Mr. Connors’ face was pale and
distraught and he was gasping for breath as though he had been running.
Mr. Benton leaped to his feet and started forward, but Mr. Connors
spoke before there was a chance for questions.
“Benton,” he said hoarsely, addressing Tom, “they’ve hurt my boy over
to Finley Falls. Chase telegraphed me. I’ve got to get to him. There’s
no train till eighty-forty and that may be too late. Can you get me
there in that auto of yours? Speak quick!”
“Your son’s hurt?” cried Mr. Benton. “I’m sorry, Bill! Is it――is it
bad?”
Mechanically the other searched in his pocket and pulled out a
crumpled piece of yellow paper, his eyes still fastened on Tom.
“Read it yourself,” he muttered. “It――sounds bad, John. I’ve got to get
to him somehow. I thought――――”
“‘George seriously injured in game. Come to City Hospital immediately.
Wire me when you will reach here. Lyman Chase!’” Mr. Benton read the
message aloud and handed it back. “Perhaps it’s not so serious as you
fear, Bill,” he said sympathetically. “But of course you must go at
once, Tom.”
Tom’s first sensation had been one of triumph. His enemy was at his
mercy! But in the face of Mr. Connors’ grief and anxiety all such
thoughts disappeared in an instant, his wrath melted away and only an
eager sympathy remained.
“I’ll get you there if it can be done, sir,” he said eagerly. “Dad, how
far is Finley Falls?”
“About fifty miles by railroad. A little more by the dirt roads, I
suppose. Can you do it, son?”
“Yes, sir, I can do it. I want Will, though, dad. Will you telephone
him and tell him to hustle right over to the garage? I’ll get the car,
Mr. Connors, and bring it around right away.”
“I’ll go with you,” replied the liveryman. “It’ll save time.”
“All right, sir, come along! Good night, dad! Good night, ma! Don’t
wait up for me, for I can’t tell when I’ll get back!”
Seizing a coat and his cap from the hat-tree in the hall, Tom hurried
through the door, closely followed by Mr. Connors. Mr. Benton was to
send a telegram to Mr. Chase.
“What time is it now, sir?” asked Tom, as they turned toward the garage.
“Six-forty,” answered Mr. Connors. “And that telegram was sent at
half-past four. My God, Benton, when will we get there?”
“I’ll get you to Finley Falls in an hour and a half if The Ark will
hold together!”