BENTON’S VENTURE

[“‘This is Saturday and we ought to have a half-holiday’”]

BENTON’S
VENTURE

BY

RALPH HENRY BARBOUR

AUTHOR OF “AROUND THE END,” “CHANGE SIGNALS,”
“FOR THE HONOR OF THE SCHOOL,” ETC.

ILLUSTRATED

NEW YORK AND LONDON
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1914

Copyright, 1914, by
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY

Printed in the United States of America

TO

SELINDA

ONE OF THE THREE BEST

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

BENTON’S VENTURE

CHAPTER I
TOM HAS AN IDEA

“Want to buy an automobile, son?”

Tom Benton smiled and shook his head.

“All right,” pursued the man good-naturedly. “I saw you looking at it, and I didn’t know but you might be wanting a good car. She’s a bargain.”

“Sort of—worn out, isn’t it?” asked Tom, moving around to a new point of view.

“N-no, there’s life in her yet, I guess. ’Course she needs overhauling, as you might say, and some paint. But she’s got four whole cylinders, a good set of gears an’—an’ some other things. No, she ain’t as bad as she looks. If you hear of anyone looking for a bargain in a five-seat, twenty-two-horsepower automobile, you tell ’em to come and see me, son.”

“What do you want for her?” asked Tom.

The carriage dealer looked at him shrewdly, kicked one worn and tattered tire as if to satisfy himself that it wouldn’t come to pieces, and replied: “A hundred and fifty dollars takes her just as she stands, with top, side curtains, top cover an’—an’ I think there’s a jack under the hind seat.”

“I dare say that’s reasonable,” replied Tom doubtfully, “but I guess it would take a lot to put that car in running shape, wouldn’t it?”

The dealer shrugged his shoulders. “I reckon fifty dollars would make a new car out of her, son. A coat of paint would make a whole pile of difference in her looks, anyway, and I’d paint her and varnish her for—let me see now; well, for thirty dollars. And that’s twenty dollars cheaper than anyone else would do it for. Better think it over.”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t buy her,” laughed Tom. “I haven’t got that much money.”

“Well, I didn’t suppose you had, but maybe your father would buy it for you. Ain’t you John Benton’s son? Ain’t Postmaster Benton your daddy?”

“Yes, sir, but I guess he isn’t buying automobiles just now. If I hear of anyone wanting one, though, I’ll tell them about this one. Want me to help you run it inside?”

“Yes, you might take a wheel over there. Wait till I put the brake off. Now, then! Heave-o! That’s the ticket. Easy! Look out for them hubs on that surrey. All right. Much obliged to you. Tell you what I’ll do, son; if you send a buyer for her, I’ll make you a present of ten dollars. That’s fair, eh? You tell folks she’s a bargain. She is, too. I reckon I could get three hundred for her in the city. I took her in trade from a man over to Graywich. Why, that car cost thirteen hundred dollars when she was new!”

“I guess that was a long time ago, wasn’t it?” hazarded Tom.

“Humph! About three years, if the man told the truth. That ain’t old, though, for an automobile. I was reading the other day about an automobile that had been run twelve years and was as good as new!”

“Will this one run now?” Tom asked.

“She might if she had some gasoline in her. Mind, I ain’t saying she would, for I ain’t tried her. I wouldn’t know how. I never ran one of the things in my life. But the man I took her from says she’ll run, an’ I’ll take his word for it till I find out different. Anyway, she’s all there; there ain’t no parts missing. You can tell ’em that, son.”

“Yes, sir; I will.”

Tom rescued his books, which he had laid aside, and, with a final look at the automobile, left Saunders’ Carriage Works and took up his homeward journey again. It was the first week in June, and the afternoon was warm and almost summer-like. There was a lazy quality in the air, which, possibly, explains why Tom had taken twenty minutes to get from the high school to Saunders’ Carriage Works and why the sight of a decrepit-looking automobile standing in front of the works had caused him to pause and waste another ten minutes. He had left school with the intention of going out to the field, after leaving his books at home and making a raid on the pantry, to watch the high school team practice baseball. Now, however, baseball practice had passed out of his mind. He was thinking of that old automobile back there. He knew very well what he would do with a hundred and fifty dollars if he had it! He would buy that car, fix it up so it would run and make money with it!

He needed money, too. He had already made up his mind to find work of some kind as soon as school was over, and so far the best thing that had offered was a position at four dollars a week in the Audelsville Paper Mill. Tom was convinced that his services ought to be worth more than that stipend, and, if a more remunerative position could be found, the paper mill was not likely to see him. Tom’s father was postmaster at Audelsville, but the salary was barely enough to provide for a family of three. It had long been a settled matter that a college education for Tom was beyond the possibilities, and that so soon as he had graduated from the high school he was to go to work. There was still another year of schooling ahead, however, and Tom, who needed clothes pretty badly nowadays, owing to an unfortunate but quite natural proclivity for outgrowing his garments, didn’t see why it was necessary to complete his education before beginning to earn money. And if he owned that automobile—Tom sighed as he pushed open the gate and went up the short path to the house.

The pantry didn’t offer much in the way of variety to-day, but Tom selected four doughnuts and a banana, and went out to the porch. There he seated himself on the top step, and set to with a good appetite. He had finished the second doughnut when the sound of whistling behind the row of overgrown lilacs along the fence reached him. Tom craned his neck, for the whistling sounded like the musical efforts of Willard Morris. Tom was not mistaken. The smiling face of Willard appeared over the gate.

“Hello, Tom!” greeted Willard. “Going out to the field?”

“I guess so. Come on in and have a doughnut.”

Nothing loth, Willard accepted the invitation, and a moment later was perched at Tom’s side, and was setting his teeth into one of Mrs. Benton’s doughnuts. Willard was a good-looking youth of seventeen, large and broad-shouldered, with nice eyes, and a pleasant, likable face. He was Tom’s senior by a full year, and was in the class ahead of him at high school. But, in spite of that, the boys were very good friends. While Willard’s father was no better off than Tom’s, Willard himself had lately come into a small legacy from a grandmother who had died, and he was to start in college in the fall—a piece of good fortune that Tom certainly envied him.

“I wish,” announced Tom presently, after they had talked school affairs for a few minutes, “I wish I had a hundred and fifty dollars, Will.”

“What for?”

“An automobile.”

Willard stared at him in surprise. “Gee,” he said, “you’re getting swell! I’d like to see the automobile you’d get for a hundred and fifty dollars, though, Tom!”

“You can see it in five minutes. It’s at Saunders’ Carriage Works. It’s an old one, and I guess it’s in bad shape, but it could be fixed up all right. It’s cheap at a hundred and fifty, I guess.”

“I guess most any automobile would be cheap at that figure if it could be made to go. What do you want it for, Tom? Can you run one?”

“I’ve never tried, but anyone can run an automobile after learning how. I’ve been sitting here wondering if father would get it for me if I asked him. I guess he couldn’t afford it, though.”

“Say, are you daffy?” demanded Willard. “Of course he won’t buy you an automobile! Besides, you’ve got a bicycle, haven’t you? Isn’t that good enough for you? It takes money to run an auto after you’ve got it, Tom.”

“Oh, I don’t want it for—for pleasure. I want to make money with it, Will. And I could if I had it, too.”

“How would you do it?”

“Well——” Tom hesitated a moment. Then, “You aren’t thinking of buying it yourself, are you?” he asked.

“Not a bit!” laughed Willard.

“Then I’ll tell you. You know when folks stop here in Audelsville, drummers and folks like that, they have to go pretty near twelve blocks to get to the hotel or the stores.”

“I know the station’s a long way from the town,” acknowledged Willard. “I thought last Fall, after the Gordon Academy game, I’d never get home. I had a lame ankle and a stiff knee, and it seemed about two miles from the station to the house.”

“That’s what I mean. Drummers always have bags and trunks, and they can’t walk to the hotel. So they take one of those rickety old hacks down there, or they wait for a car.”

“They don’t if they’re in a hurry,” said Willard grimly. “The cars only run every half-hour or so.”

“Twenty minutes; but they’re never there when a train comes in, and so the folks usually take one of Connors’ hacks. That costs them fifty cents apiece, and twenty-five cents for a trunk. Well, if I had that automobile, Will, I’d be down there when the trains come in, and I guess I’d do a good business. Most anyone would rather go to the hotel in an automobile than a hack. It’s quicker, in the first place, and then, besides, I’d take them up for a quarter.”

“Why, say, that isn’t a bad idea! But old Connors would be mad, wouldn’t he? How many would your auto hold?”

“Four, besides me,” answered Tom. “It would be big enough most times, I guess.”

“But gasoline would cost you money, Tom; don’t forget that. And oil; and repairs. I don’t believe you’d make much at twenty-five cents apiece.”

“I’ve figured I could clear about fifteen dollars a week,” replied Tom thoughtfully. “At that rate I could pay father for the car and have quite a little at the end of the summer. Then, if it proved a success, maybe I could find someone to drive it for me in the winter while I’m at school. But, there’s no use talking about it, I suppose, for I don’t believe father would give me the money.”

“Maybe Saunders would sell on the installment plan,” Willard suggested. “Then you could pay him a little every week. Did you ask him?”

Tom shook his head. “No; I didn’t really think seriously of it until afterward. He told me he’d give me ten dollars if I’d find someone to buy it from him. So I should think he’d sell it for a hundred and forty if he didn’t have to pay out any commission, eh?”

“Shucks, Tom, he’d probably let you have it for a hundred and twenty-five. Where’d he get it, anyway?”

So Tom told what little he knew of the car’s history, and Willard listened thoughtfully. “Well, I’ll tell you what I’d do, Tom,” he said finally. “If there was any chance of getting it, I’d find someone who knows about automobiles, and have him look it over. Then, if it wouldn’t cost too much to put it in shape, I’d offer Saunders a hundred and twenty-five for it. Tell him you’ll pay him, say, fifty dollars down, and so much a week. As for painting it, why, I don’t see why you couldn’t do that yourself. It isn’t hard to paint. I’ll help, if you like. And, I wouldn’t paint it black, either, because black shows all the dust and mud. Paint it—paint it gray, Tom.”

“Yes, I guess that would be better. And I suppose I could do it myself, as you say. It would be rather fun, wouldn’t it? Gee, I wish my father would let me get it!”

“Well, ask him. There’s no harm in that. I guess you could do pretty well with it, if you had it, Tom. What time is it? Let’s go out and watch those duffers practice for a while.”

Mr. Benton listened gravely and interestedly that evening to Tom’s plan, but shook his head.

“Tom,” he said finally, “I couldn’t find a hundred and twenty-five dollars for you right now to save my life. Maybe I could find fifty if Saunders would let you have the automobile for that much down, but it would be risky, I’m afraid. Suppose you didn’t make your scheme work, my boy? Then how would you meet your payments?”

“I don’t see how it could help working, father,” replied Tom earnestly. “I guess there’s fully twenty to thirty folks going back and forth from the station every day.”

“More, but they don’t all ride in hacks. Lots of them take the car and lots more walk.”

“But they wouldn’t so many of them walk or take the car if they could get up to town quickly and comfortably in an automobile.”

“Perhaps not. You can’t tell, though. Besides, I don’t know as I’d want to do anything to hurt Connors’ business, Tom. He’s been doing the station livery for a good many years now.”

“There wouldn’t be anything to keep him from putting on an automobile, too, father, if he found I was getting the business away from him.”

“But supposing he did? Then where would you be?”

Tom was silent. Mr. Benton shook his head again.

“I appreciate your wanting to make money, Tom,” he said kindly, “but I guess the best thing to do is to find some work somewhere and not risk any capital. A hundred and twenty-five dollars looks pretty big to your daddy these days!”

CHAPTER II
AND SO HAS WILLARD

That ought to have settled the matter; but, although Tom, refusing comfort from his mother, went to bed telling himself that it was going to be the paper mill after all, somehow the next morning brought renewed hope. While he was dressing he tried to think of some way in which to get hold of that automobile, and, although he hadn’t succeeded by breakfast time, he nevertheless went downstairs to the morning meal in high spirits. There’s something about a fresh, dew-sprinkled June morning that makes a chap believe he can do almost anything if he tries hard enough!

When Tom started out of the house he was surprised to see Willard Morris leaning over the gate.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” announced Willard. “If we have time let’s stop and look at that buzz-wagon you were talking about yesterday. Will you?”

“Yes; but I guess there isn’t much use, Will. I spoke to father, and he said he couldn’t afford it. At least, he says he couldn’t afford to pay a hundred and twenty-five. He might pay fifty, but he’s afraid I might not make a go of it.”

“What did he say?” asked Willard.

Tom narrated the conversation of the evening before, and Willard nodded once or twice, as he heard Mr. Benton’s objections.

“Well, maybe he’s right, Tom. There isn’t any sure thing about it, and that’s so, but he loses sight of the fact that, even if the scheme didn’t work, you’d still have the automobile, and ought to get as much for it as you gave; that is, if it’s as good as you say it is. Anyway, we’ll look it over.”

They did. Mr. Saunders was glad to have them see it, and expatiated on its merits for ten minutes, while Willard walked around it and viewed it carefully. “Was you thinking of buying it yourself?” asked Mr. Saunders.

“Oh, I don’t know,” replied Willard. “Maybe. I’m sort of looking for a bargain in an automobile.” Tom stared at him in surprise. “But I think you’re asking a whole lot for this thing. Why, it would cost a hundred dollars, probably, to put that car in shape!”

“What if it did? That would be only two hundred and fifty, and where could you get an automobile for that money?”

“Two hundred and fifty?” repeated Willard. “Oh, I see; you’re figuring on getting a hundred and fifty for it.” He shook his head, and felt disparagingly of a worn tire. “I wouldn’t give that much. Maybe I’d offer you a hundred, but I’d want to have someone look over the engine first.”

Mr. Saunders snorted with disgust. “A hundred! Why, that thing cost me two hundred in trade! A hundred! Pshaw! I’d sell her to the junkman first!”

“Maybe that would be better,” said Willard agreeably. “Well, perhaps I’ll come in again. I’ll think it over. If I were you I’d have someone wash it so you could see what it was like underneath the dirt.”

Mr. Saunders received the suggestion with a shrug, and the boys hurried out. “What did you mean by saying you were thinking of buying it?” asked Tom curiously. Willard shook his head.

“I’ll tell you at noon,” he said. “There isn’t time now. We’ve got only three minutes to get to school. Wait for me at the east door at recess, Tom.”

Tom’s lessons didn’t go very well that forenoon. Try as he might, he couldn’t get that automobile out of his head, and the schemes he evolved and abandoned to get possession of it were legion. After morning session he waited for Willard at the front entrance, and the two boys sought a quiet corner of the stone curbing about the high school grounds and opened their lunch-boxes. After Willard had taken the edge off his appetite by the consumption of three sandwiches and a slice of pie he consented to satisfy Tom’s curiosity.

“My, but I was starved. I didn’t eat much breakfast, because I was afraid I’d miss you at your house, and I wanted to have a look at that car with you. You don’t think there’s much chance of your father buying it?”

“I don’t believe there’s any chance,” replied Tom ruefully.

“Is there any other way you know of that you can get the money?”

“No, I wish there was!”

“Well, all right,” and Willard began to peel and quarter an orange. “I spoke to my dad about that auto last night, Tom. You see, I got to thinking about it, after I left you, and it seemed to me like a pretty good idea. He said it sounded as though it might be a bargain, and he didn’t see why you couldn’t do pretty well bringing folks up from the station. We talked it all over, and—well, here’s my idea. See how you like it. You say you can’t get the money to buy it yourself. I don’t want to ‘butt in,’ Tom, but I’ve been thinking that perhaps you and I could go into the thing together, that is, if you don’t mind having a partner. Wait a minute! Now, suppose we get a man to look that car all over and tell us how much it would cost to put it in good shape. Dad knows of just the chap. His name is Brennan, and he works in the machine shop down by the railroad. Dad says he’d probably do it for us for a dollar. Then, if he says the car can be fixed up for—well, say, fifty dollars, we’ll go ahead. You get your father to put in fifty, and I’ll put in fifty. That’ll make a hundred. We’ll pay fifty dollars down to Saunders, and we’ll spend fifty in having it repaired and painted. We’ll do the painting ourselves. That will leave us in debt about a hundred dollars. If it’s necessary I’ll put in another fifty, but if it isn’t we’ll pay off what we owe in installments. As the idea was yours, and, as you’ll do the work, you’ll get two-thirds of what we make, and I’ll get one-third. What do you say?”

“Why—but—can you do that?” exclaimed Tom.

“Yes. You know I got some money from my grandmother’s estate last Fall. I’m to use it for college, but I won’t need it all, and, anyway, if this thing works out the way we expect it to, it will be a good investment. Of course, I wouldn’t want to risk more than a hundred, Tom; I couldn’t afford to. Maybe you think you ought to get more than two-thirds, but dad thought that was fair, and——”

“That part’s all right,” said Tom. “Seems to me you ought to have more than a third of the earnings, Will.”

“No, because, you see, you’ll have to do the work. I’d help when I could, but I don’t know how to run a car, and I’ll be rather busy this summer, getting ready for college in the fall.”

“Well, it’s a perfectly corking scheme,” said Tom, “but I’m terribly afraid that father won’t let me have the money. Perhaps, though, when I tell him that you’re going in with me, and think it’s all right, he may change his mind.”

“You keep at him,” laughed Willard. “Of course, there won’t be much in it for us for a while, because we’ll have to pay Saunders. But we ought to get our money back, in time, at least. Then, if the thing works well, we’ll find someone to run the car while you’re in school in the winter. Why, maybe we’ll get so rich that we’ll be able to buy a real motor ’bus, Tom!”

“Wouldn’t that be dandy!” said Tom softly. “I—I’m awfully much obliged to you, Will, and——”

“Oh, piffle! I’m going into it, as a—a business proposition, Tom. You don’t need to thank me. If I didn’t think I’d get my money back all right I wouldn’t think of it. Couldn’t afford to, Tom. You have a talk with your father as soon as you can, will you?”

“Of course. I’ll stop in and see him at the shop after school.”

“That’s the ticket. I wonder if it would help any if I went along, Tom?”

“I wish you would. He’d think more of the scheme if you talked it up a little. Don’t you think so?”

“He might. We’ll try it. I’ll meet you after school and go with you. If he says yes, we’ll go on down to the machine shop and find this chap Brennan. We’ve got to know what the thing will cost, first of all.”

“And hadn’t we better stop and see Saunders right away, and get a—get the refusal of the automobile?” asked Tom uneasily. “Suppose someone else got ahead of us and bought it?”

“I don’t believe there’s much danger of that,” said Willard; “but maybe we’d better be on the safe side. So we’ll stop in and see the old codger first thing.”

“There isn’t time now, is there?” asked Tom, looking anxious.

Willard looked at his silver watch and shook his head. “No, the bell will ring in four minutes. If we’d thought of it sooner—but I don’t believe anyone will get ahead of us. By the way, don’t you have to have a license to run an automobile?”

“I don’t know. Do you?”

“I think so. We’ll have to find out about that. How much do you suppose a license will cost?”

Tom shook his head. “I don’t know. Where do you suppose we can find out?”

“I guess dad knows. I’ll ask him this evening. I hope it doesn’t cost very much. A dog license costs three dollars, but I suppose that hasn’t anything to do with an automobile license. How long do you think it will take you to learn to run the thing, Tom?”

“About a week, I guess,” replied Tom vaguely. “Of course, there’s lots to learn about the engine part of it, but I guess you don’t have to know all that at first. There’s the bell. I’ll meet you after school, Will. And—and don’t be late, will you? It would be fierce if we got there and found Saunders had sold the car!”

But that fear proved vain when, five minutes after dismissal, the two boys reached the carriage works, rather anxious and quite breathless. The car was still there, looking, if anything, a trifle more dilapidated than before. Mr. Saunders had to be summoned from somewhere on the floor above, and, while they awaited him, they again looked over the car. It wasn’t a very commodious car. The rear seat was quite wide enough to take three passengers comfortably, but there was precious little leg room for them.

“Not much room for bags,” commented Willard.

“We could put them in front,” said Tom. “It wouldn’t be very often we’d get more than three passengers at a load. I wonder what kind of a car it is.”

“Gasoline,” suggested Willard, with a laugh.

“I mean what make. There ought to be a name on it somewhere.”

But search failed to reveal any until Willard found some almost illegible lettering on a brass plate running along the edge of the front flooring. They finally deciphered it. “Treffry Motor Co.” was the legend.

“Ever hear of a Treffry car?” asked Willard.

“Yes, I think so. I wonder how old it is. Saunders says three years, but I’ll wager——”

He didn’t have time to state what he was willing to wager, however, for at that moment Mr. Saunders appeared on the scene. Willard acted as spokesman.

“Back again, Mr. Saunders,” he announced carelessly.

“So I see.” The carriage man didn’t seem overly glad to find him there, Tom thought.

“Yes, I got to thinking it over, and I dropped in to make you an offer.”

“All right; let’s hear it. I’m sort of busy this afternoon.”

“Well, I want to have a man come up here and look the car over. If he says it can be repaired reasonably, I’ll pay you a hundred and twenty-five dollars for it, fifty dollars cash and the balance at the rate of twenty dollars a month.”

“My terms was a hundred and fifty cash,” said Mr. Saunders.

“Yes, but like as not you were expecting to pay ten or fifteen dollars’ commission to someone,” responded Willard cheerfully. “You won’t have to pay any commission, and that will save something.”

“H-m; and what about interest?”

“Interest?”

“Sure; interest on the balance of seventy-five dollars you’d be owing me. It would be four months before I’d get the last of it.”

“Oh, I see.” Willard looked doubtfully at Tom. “Well, I suppose interest at three per cent.——”

“Three per cent.! Jumpin’ Jupiter! The legal rate is five!”

“Is it? On automobiles?”

“On anything. I guess you don’t know a whole lot, after all, son. You want a fellow to come here and take the car to pieces?”

“Well, look it over, you know.”

“Yes, and leave it spread all over the place, like as not, so I’ll never be able to get it together again! Who you going to send here?”

“A man named Brennan, who works——”

“Jimmy Brennan at the machine shop? I know him. Well, all right, but he’s got to put things together the way he finds ’em. You tell him that.”

“I will, Mr. Saunders. Now will you give me a refusal of the car until I hear what Mr. Brennan says about it?”

“I don’t know about that. I might miss a sale. How soon is he comin’, and when will you know whether you want to buy her or not?”

“I’m going to try and get him to come to-morrow. Then just as soon as I hear what he says——”

“I’ll give you an option until this time to-morrow, and that’s the best I can do,” said Mr. Saunders with finality. “Take it, or leave it. A hundred and twenty-five isn’t enough, anyway, for an automobile like that. Why, that car cost, new, ’most fifteen hundred dollars, I guess!”

“That isn’t very long,” said Willard, “but if it’s the best you’ll do, all right. Only I’m afraid Mr. Brennan is so busy——”

“Tell him to come this evening. I’ll give him the key if he will stop at my house. He knows where I live.”

“Thanks. I’ll ask him to, then. Much obliged.” As they started out Mr. Saunders called Tom back.

“Look here,” he whispered, “I agreed to give you ten dollars, son, but that was for selling her for a hundred and fifty. This fellow’s only going to pay a hundred and twenty-five, and not all cash, either. So I can’t give you more’n five dollars; understand?”

“I don’t want any commission at all, thank you, Mr. Saunders,” replied Tom.

“Oh!” Mr. Saunders looked relieved. “Well, that’s all right, then. Can this fellow pay the money? Who is he?”

“He can pay, all right, Mr. Saunders. His name is Willard Morris. His father——”

“I know. All right.”

“But why didn’t you take the five?” asked Willard, when Tom repeated the conversation outside. “Every dollar helps, you know.”

“Yes, but it didn’t seem quite fair, when I was sort of half buying it myself.”

“No, that’s so. Now you’d better talk to your father first, and then I’ll say my piece.”

CHAPTER III
MR. BENTON SAYS YES

Mr. Benton was at his desk, in the little, partitioned-off office, and the boys quite filled the tiny space. Perhaps Tom’s father had been thinking about the plan since the evening before, and had changed his views, for it required hardly any persuasion to gain his agreement. “Yes, Tom, I’ll advance you fifty dollars, if you decide to buy it,” he said, when Tom had explained. “But you mustn’t come to me for any more afterward, because I simply can’t let you have it. We’ll make a business proposition of it, and you’ll pay me back the fifty from time to time. Is that satisfactory?”

“Yes, sir; thank you.”

“Very well. When do you want the money?”

“To-morrow afternoon, sir, if we want it at all.”

“I’ll have it ready for you. I’m glad you’re going to share the risk with him, Willard. Two heads are better than one. Besides, if the plan fails, you’ll each stand to lose less. That all you wanted, Tom?”

“Yes, sir. I’m awfully much obliged, father. And—and, if we buy that car, we’re going to make a go of it, aren’t we, Will?”

“We certainly are! We’ve got to!”

They climbed over a pile of empty mail bags and made their way out of the post-office with jubilant faces.

“Isn’t that great?” demanded Tom.

“Fine and dandy! Now, let’s hustle down and find this fellow Brennan. We’ve got to persuade him to look that car over to-night.”

It was a good stiff walk to the railroad, and then they had to go along the track for some distance to where Gerrish & Hanford’s machine shop stood—a rickety, brown, wooden building, filled with the din and clatter of machinery. Jimmy Brennan proved to be a small, red-haired chap, some four years older than Willard. He had a smooch of black grease on his tilted nose, which lent his countenance quite a weird expression. Jimmy—for it wasn’t long before they were calling him that—heard their errand and asked no questions until Willard had finished. Then:

“Sure,” he agreed. “I’ll look her over for you, but I don’t see how I can do it to-night, boys. I got a sort of an engagement for this evening. Maybe to-morrow night——”

“But we’ve only got the option until to-morrow afternoon,” objected Tom. “Don’t you think you might manage to do it to-night, Mr. Brennan? We wouldn’t want to lose the car, if it really proved to be a good one, you see.”

Jimmy scowled thoughtfully at a lathe. At last, his face clearing, “All right,” he said. “I’ll do it somehow. Maybe it’ll be late, but that won’t matter if Saunders will let me have the key. I’ll do it. Where’ll I see you to-morrow? Will you be back here?”

“We’ll come down in the morning, before school,” replied Willard. “How much will you charge to do it?”

“Oh, that’ll be all right; it won’t cost you much. I’ll have to charge according to my time, I suppose.”

Willard was for letting it stand so, but Tom said firmly: “I don’t believe you’d overcharge us, Mr. Brennan, but we haven’t much money, and so, if you wouldn’t mind giving us an idea as to about what it would be worth——”

“Well, say two dollars, at the outside. If I can do it for less I will, boys. I won’t stick you.”

“We-ell,” began Tom doubtfully. But Willard pulled his sleeve, as he said: “That’ll be all right, I think. What we want is to know just what it would cost to fix her up to run, you know.”

“Sure. Who was you going to get to do the work?” asked Jimmy.

“Why, we thought maybe you would. That is, if you had the time,” said Tom. “Will’s father, Mr. Morris, you know, said he thought you would.”

“Why, maybe I could. I’d have to work evenings, of course. If I found she was worth fixing, and it didn’t cost too much, and I got the job, why, I wouldn’t charge you anything for looking her over to-night.”

“Thank you,” said Tom. “Then we’ll come down in the morning and hear the—the verdict.”

Going back, the boys cut across lots, behind the railroad yards, and over Town Brook, and were soon back at Tom’s house on Cross Street. All the way they speculated and planned, and, once perched on the front steps, they began to reckon the cost of their undertaking again. Tom got a piece of paper from the house, and Willard supplied a pencil.

“Now then,” said the latter, “put down fifty dollars for the first payment. Then, say, it costs fifty dollars more to put the car in shape. Got that down? That’s a hundred, isn’t it? Well, then, if we paint her ourselves, it oughtn’t to cost more than ten dollars at the outside; not so much, maybe.”

“Can we do it ourselves?” asked Tom. “Wouldn’t we have to take the old paint and varnish off first, Will?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. It would be a hard job, if we did, wouldn’t it? We could find out about that, I guess; ask a painter. Anyhow, it wouldn’t take much money. Did you put down ten dollars?”

“Yes.”

“Then”—Willard paused—“look here, Tom, where are we going to keep her?”

“I’ve thought of that,” answered Tom. “There’s lots of room in our stable, if I can get dad to let me put the old buggy in storage somewhere. We don’t use it now, you know, since Peter died summer before last. Dad’s been talking of getting another horse, but I don’t believe he will. I guess Saunders would store the buggy for us pretty cheap.”

“We’ll make it a part of the bargain,” declared Willard. “That’s settled, then, and we won’t have to pay for a place to keep the car. Now, what’s next?”

“I suppose gasoline and lubricating oil,” suggested the other. “I inquired about gasoline, and it costs twenty-two cents, by the gallon, or eighteen, if you buy fifty gallons or more. Maybe it would be a good idea to buy a lot and get the discount. Only thing is, we wouldn’t have anything to keep it in.”

“We could get it by the barrel, couldn’t we? Doesn’t it come in barrels? Sure, it must. Look here, how far does a gallon run a car?”

“I don’t know,” owned Tom. “I must get a book about automobiles and study up. I’ll go over to the library this evening. I guess they’ve got one there.”

“Must have. Why don’t you walk up with me when I go home? And, by the way, there’s a fellow on Linden street who sells autos; has an agency for them. I suppose he’d tell us a lot about them if I asked him.”

“Maybe he’d want us to buy one of his cars, though,” Tom objected.

“Well, what if he did? We wouldn’t have to, would we? He could tell us about gasoline and oil and things like that, I guess. And, about getting a license, too. That’s another thing we’ll have to reckon in. Say we call it five dollars. It won’t be more than that, I’ll bet. Put down five for a license, Tom. How much is that?”

“A hundred and fifteen.”

“Golly! It mounts up, doesn’t it? And we haven’t counted in gasoline yet. How much would we have to have to start with?”

“The tank holds ten gallons, I think. And ten gallons, it seems to me, ought to last a week easily.”

“Well, then, put down ten gallons of gasoline at twenty-two cents a gallon.”

“Two-twenty,” murmured Tom.

“And some oil and grease. How much—a dollar’s worth?”

Tom nodded and added another figure.

“Well, there we are. Now we’re ready for business. Now, the question is, how many folks could we carry in a week?”

“Well, there are six express trains a day—three each way,” answered Tom. “Most of the traveling men come on the morning express and go away in the afternoon. Suppose we got three passengers each way for those two trains, Will. That would be three dollars a day. Six times three would be eighteen! Why, that’s a lot!”

“Why not seven times three?”

“Oh, I don’t think dad would like me to run the car on Sundays. Besides, no one comes or goes then, anyway, I guess.”

“That’s so. Eighteen a week, then; and we might make a lot more some weeks, mightn’t we? And four times eighteen is seventy-two. We’d make seventy-two dollars a month! And, out of that, we’d have to pay Saunders twenty, and buy gasoline and oil and things, and maybe repairs; although, if Brennan made a good job of it, it doesn’t seem as though we’d have many repairs for a good while. Hold on, though, Tom! What about tires?”

Tom looked blank. “I’d forgotten those,” he muttered. “And they say tires cost an awful lot. And the tires on the car now don’t look as though they’d last a minute!”

“You bet they don’t. That means we might have to buy four new ones right away. Thunder, I wish automobiles had only two wheels! How much do you suppose they cost, Tom?”

Tom shook his head helplessly. “About—oh, maybe fifteen dollars apiece; maybe twenty!”

“Golly!” Willard frowned a moment in silence. Then, “Well, let’s suppose we have to buy two new tires right away at twenty each. That makes forty more. Put it down, Tom. How much now?”

“A hundred and fifty-eight dollars and twenty cents.”

“H-m; and we’ll have a hundred only. Guess I’ll have to put in another fifty, Tom.”

“If—if the tires that are on the car now proved to be all right for a while,” answered Tom, “we could get by with a hundred, couldn’t we? That is, pretty nearly.”

“Yes. If we could get along until the end of the first month we’d be all right. Because we’d have to pay out of the seventy-two only twenty dollars to Saunders——”

“With interest.”

“That wouldn’t be much—only about”—Willard calculated mentally—“only about thirty cents. Then there’d be, say, ten dollars more, for gasoline and such things. That would leave us with a profit of forty-two dollars, Tom. And with that we could buy two tires. I suppose we’d better make up our minds to putting most of our profits back into the business for a month or two.”

Tom nodded. “I think so. Gee, but I wish I knew now what Brennan is going to tell us to-morrow. I—I’d be awfully disappointed, if he told us the car wasn’t worth fixing, Will.”

“So would I be. I’ve sort of set my heart on the scheme now. Well, we’ll just hope for the best, Tom. Now I must be getting along. Coming up to the library?”

“Yes, I’ll go and get that book. It won’t hurt to know something about automobiles, even if—if we don’t get this one, Will.”

CHAPTER IV
JIMMY BRENNAN REPORTS

If you will look at your map of Rhode Island you will discover that the northern portion of that small but important state consists of the county of Providence, which, unlike most New England counties, is surprisingly square in form. In the southeast corner the Providence river has wedged its way in, and seemingly pushed the boundary a few miles into the state of Massachusetts, but otherwise Providence county is beautifully symmetrical, a thing of rectangles and equal sides—if you haven’t too true an eye!

Taking the city of Pawtucket as a base—and you’ll find it due north of Providence, on the upper reach of the river—and, going westward, about half-way across the county and state, you’ll find yourself in a region of lakes and rivers and streams, a region as full of queer-sounding Indian names as a pudding is full of plums. Here is Moswansicut pond and Pochasset river, and Pockanosset branch, and many others. And, among them, if you’ll look very, very closely, you’ll find Fountain lake, which, being smaller than the surrounding bodies of water called ponds, is by the law of contraries termed a lake. And, from Fountain lake, trailing south into the Pawtuxet, is Fountain river.

It is a small stream and unimportant. In fact, in its upper reaches it is hardly more than a good-sized trout brook, although, unfortunately, the trout have long since left it. Twelve miles below Fountain lake is the town of Audelsville, named many years ago for a certain German farmer, whose holdings at that time comprised thousands of acres thereabouts. Audelsville to-day is a big and busy town of some six thousand inhabitants. There are two big mills there, one manufacturing paper, and one cotton cloth, and these mills, with the railroad repair shops, account for fully half of the population. Audelsville has some of the ear-marks of a city. There’s a local street railway, which, starting at the railroad station by the river, proceeds somewhat leisurely to the business center of the town, and there forms a loop before it returns. And the main trolley line between Providence and Graywich runs right through Main Street, past Dunlop & Toll’s Mammoth Department Store, and the Common, with its white, clapboarded Court House, and its red brick Town Hall, and the post-office—which occupies a corner of the Centennial Block—and Meechin’s Hotel, and Hall & Dugget’s Cut-Price Drug Emporium, and within a quarter of a block of the Opera House, which stands out of sight up Main Street Court. Take it on a busy day, say a Saturday, at about eleven in the morning, when two of the big trolleys are passing at the siding almost in front of the hotel, and the station car is waiting at the corner of Main and Walnut streets for the track, and there are a lot of folks in from the country, why, you might almost think at first glance that you were in a real city, like, say, Pawtucket!

The railroad—the steam railroad, I mean now—enters Audelsville along the bank of the river, and back from the track, occupying the northern side of town, lie the mills and the railroad yards and the car shops, and block after block of monotonous small houses occupied by the operatives. It isn’t until you cross Washington Street that the town becomes attractive. There are some pleasant, comfortable, old-fashioned dwellings on Washington Street. Then comes Main Street, with its retail stores and principal business blocks, and after that, still traveling south, you reach the newer part of the town that is called The Hill. There are some fine residences there; Mr. Dunlop’s, for instance, which occupies a whole half block opposite the public library and the high school; and Mr. Martin’s, which is all of brown sandstone, with a wonderful red-tile roof, and has a great semi-circular conservatory at one end. (Mr. Martin is superintendent at the Paper Mills and owns a lot of stock in the business, they say.) The Hill, its real name is Myer’s Hill, rises to a considerable height above the rest of town, and from the top, say from the front steps of the high school building, or Mr. Dunlop’s veranda, one can see for many miles up and down the shallow valley. Fountain lake is quite plain to the northward, and on clear days one may see Providence.

The Hill, however, is the location of wealth and aristocracy, and we have little interest in it at present. Neither Tom Benton nor Willard Morris lived on The Hill. Tom’s folks occupied a small white-painted, green-shuttered house on Cross Street, one street back of Washington, while Willard lived with his father, mother and younger sister on Lincoln Street, almost at the corner of Main, and some five blocks distant from Tom’s. Consequently when, the following morning, they met to hurry down to the machine shop before school commenced, Willard walked through to Washington Street and waited there in the shade of a big horse-chestnut tree until Tom came around the corner of Walnut Street and waved gaily from a block away. They were both in high spirits this morning, and neither was willing to entertain a doubt as to the success of their project. Tom had sat up half the night reading a book on automobiles and was full to the brim with strange lore which he unloaded upon his friend as they hurried toward the railroad.

“You see,” he said, drawing shapes in the air with his hands, “here’s your cylinder, Will; like that; understand?” Willard nodded doubtfully. “And underneath here is the crank case. Your cylinder is open into the crank case and closed at the top. Now, then, here’s a piston working up and down, like this; see? The gas is admitted to the top of the cylinder, above the piston, through what is called an inlet valve. Then it is exploded while under—er—compression——”

“That’ll do,” laughed Willard. “You keep the rest and show me about it on the engine. Anyhow, here we are at the shop. Suppose he’s here yet?”

That question was soon answered, once they were inside, for Jimmy Brennan, looking somewhat tired and cross, saw them as they entered and, laying aside the job he was on, went to meet them.

“Well, I went over her for you,” he announced when he had drawn them to the comparative quiet of the stock room. “I was up till most two o’clock.”

“Really?” asked Tom sympathetically. “And—and what did you find out?”

Jimmy scowled disgustedly. “I found out that that car is fitter for the scrap heap than anything else, fellows. Why, there’s hardly a part of her that don’t need fixin’!”

The boys’ faces fell. “Then—then you don’t think it would pay to repair her?” asked Willard.

Jimmy examined a callus on one hand in silence for a moment. Then: “Well, I don’t know. How much was you willin’ to pay out on her? That’s the question, I guess. I don’t say she can’t be fixed up, ’cause I guess she can. You wouldn’t ever have a nice, quiet-runnin’ car, maybe, but there’s a good engine there and I guess it’ll pull most any load you’d be likely to put on it. She wouldn’t exactly be speedy, either.”

“It isn’t speed we want, I think,” said Tom relievedly. “If you could fix her up so she’d run pretty well for——” He looked at Willard.

“For fifty or sixty dollars,” said Willard.

“Yes, say fifty dollars,” went on Tom, “why, we’d be willing to pay it.”

“Fifty dollars, eh? Humph! I don’t know as I could promise that. She needs quite a few new parts.” He pulled a little red-leather notebook from his pocket and thumbed the pages. “I made a few memorandums here somewhere. Here they are. In the first place the cylinders are pretty badly scored, but it wouldn’t pay to put in new ones. I guess if they were well cleaned they’d answer. You need two new wrist-pins, though. Then your gears are badly worn; you’d have to have new gears. And you’d have to wire her all over again. Your carburetor—well, I guess that could be fixed all right; same with the magneto. I didn’t have time to take that apart. You’ve got two broken leaves on one forward spring. You need new hose couplings on your pump. The connecting rods will have to be taken up, but that’s no job.”

Jimmy closed his book again and studied a moment. Tom and Willard eyed each other hopelessly. It sounded like an awful lot! Finally: “Well, say, I’ll take the job for fifty-five dollars, boys, and that’s the best I could do. I wouldn’t do it for that if it wasn’t that I can use a little extra money. I’d have to work on her nights and holidays, of course. Where you going to put her?”

Tom told him about the stable and Jimmy nodded. “That’s all right, if your folks won’t object to the noise. Well, there’s my offer, boys. I’d like to help you out, understand; otherwise I wouldn’t take the job less’n seventy-five.”

“How long would it take, do you think?” asked Tom.

“Depends. Maybe two weeks. Maybe three. I’d have to send to the factory for the new parts, you see. Better say three weeks, I guess.”

“And you think that when you got through with it—her—she would be all right, Mr. Brennan?”

“I think she’d run smooth. That’s all I’d guarantee. She’s an old car; must be six years old, I suppose; and she isn’t as nifty as the ones they make now. But she’s built strong, all right. She’s got a good engine. What was you wanting her for principally?”

“Just—just to run around town in,” answered Willard. They hadn’t confided to Jimmy the real purpose to which they intended putting the car.

“Oh, she’d last twenty years, likely, around town. ’Course if you was thinkin’ of doing much tourin’ with her, why, that’s different. She wouldn’t stand it long. But just around here on good roads, why, she’d last a good while, boys.”

“Then——” Tom looked at Willard for confirmation—“then I guess you’d better do it, if you will. When could you start?”

“To-night. You get her hauled around to your stable and I’ll start in this evening to take her down.”

“That will be fine! That is, if I can get the carriage taken away to-day. If I can’t I’ll let you know. Have you a telephone here?”

“Yes, 48-W. I’ll be here till four. If you can’t get her around to-day let me know and I’ll start to-morrow. That’s a bargain, then, fellows. I’m to put her in good runnin’ shape; best I know how; and you pay me fifty-five dollars when she’s done. All right. See you later.”

CHAPTER V
THE BARGAIN IS SEALED

There wasn’t much chance for conversation on the way back, for it lacked only fifteen minutes of school time and the high school was a good mile and a quarter distant. Once on River Street they broke into a jog-trot and kept it up until they turned into Logan Street and the sidewalk began to tilt upward. After that trotting was out of the question, but, although there was time to talk, neither had enough breath left. As they entered the school grounds and followed the gravel path that curved to the west entrance of the big yellow brick building they managed to gasp out an agreement to meet after morning session. Then the doorway swallowed them and each hurried away to his room with only the fraction of a minute to spare.

I don’t think that either Willard or Tom showed up very brilliantly that day at studies. Their minds were much too full of the automobile. At recess they stole away from the crowd and sat side by side on the granite coping beyond the library and talked it all over again, and could scarcely wait for school to end so that they could get the money and seal the bargain with Mr. Saunders. Tom became so interested that he quite forgot to finish his luncheon, and the bell found him still possessed of two perfectly good bananas and a piece of chocolate layer cake. He managed the cake on the way back, however, and consigned the bananas to his pockets for future reference.

At three-thirty the bargain was completed. Willard’s father, whose cabinet shop was but two blocks distant, was on hand and he and the carriage man soon had the papers fixed up. Willard engaged to pay the sum of twenty dollars monthly until the full amount of one hundred and twenty-five dollars had been paid. The interest was to be at five per cent., and the title of the car remained with Mr. Saunders until the final payment had been made. Tom handed over his fifty dollars in cash, Willard and his father signed the papers and the car, to all intents and purposes, was theirs!

Mr. Saunders had demurred at first at having to include storage of the Bentons’ buggy in his part of the bargain, but Willard had been firm and in the end the carriage man had consented. Mr. Morris went back to his shop and Tom and Willard hurried down Main Street and around to the rear of the hotel, to where Connors’ stables stood. There a bargain was soon made. The liveryman was to go to Saunders’ shop with a stout rope and haul the automobile over to the Bentons’ stable. At first he wanted a dollar and a quarter, but the boys beat him down to seventy-five cents. From there they hurried around to Tom’s house and Tom found the stable key. After they had run the buggy out to the yard they looked over the quarters. The carriage room was not very large, but it would serve the purpose well enough. Tom pointed out that they could build a bench under the window at the side and after a while make their own repairs. Fortunately the stable had been wired for electricity a few years before and Jimmy Brennan would have no difficulty finding plenty of light for his work. Some boxes and a decrepit wheelbarrow were moved into the box-stall out of the way and Tom found an old stable broom and swept the floor fairly clean.

“We’ll have to put up some shelves, I suppose, for oil and grease and things,” said Tom. “And where can we keep the gasoline if we get a barrel full at a time?”

“Dad says you’ll have to keep it out of doors and away from buildings,” replied Willard. “Let’s have a look.”

So they went outside and soon found a place for it some twelve feet from the stable and a little further from the house. It was rather far from the grass-grown drive that led from stable to street, but Tom declared that it wouldn’t be any trick to lug the gasoline in a pail from the barrel to the car. Besides, he pointed out, there was a pear tree there and the foliage would serve as a roof. To make assurance doubly sure Tom went into the house and informed Jimmy Brennan by telephone that the car would be there that evening ready for him to work on. Then the boys each took a shaft of the buggy and gaily started along Cross Street for Saunders’ Carriage Works. They had only three blocks to go with it, but it seemed as though every fellow they knew was encountered in that short journey! Near the corner of Spruce Street, Jimmy Lippit was leaning over his front gate and hailed them with delight.

“Get ap!” he shouted. “Where you going with the buggy, Tom?”

“Saunders’,” replied Tom.

“Have you got a new horse?”

“No, I’m taking it over to have it stored.”

“Give me a ride, will you?” Jimmy, who was a slim, freckle-faced boy of fifteen, emerged from his yard and joined them. “Go on, Tom, let me get in there, will you?”

“No, sir, you keep out of there. Hi, there! Quit that!”

Teddy Thurston had stolen up behind and was pushing heroically, and Tom and Willard had to dig their heels in the dirt to keep from being run down. Willard chased Teddy to the sidewalk, but in the meantime Jimmy had crawled into the buggy. It took several minutes to dislodge him and by the time he was pulled out four or five other fellows had congregated. Tom and Willard were vastly outnumbered and the buggy completed its journey most spectacularly. Jimmy Lippit and a boy named Converse occupied the seat, two small boys sat in the box behind and the rest helped pull. The buggy crossed Washington Street in defiance of all speed regulations—if there were any in Audelsville—and to the accompaniment of much laughter and shouting. Jimmy held an imaginary pair of reins and cracked an imaginary whip, while Converse clutched him in simulated terror as the vehicle bounded over the car rails.

“Git ap!” shouted Jimmy.

“Save me! Save me!” shrieked Converse. “They’re running away!”

“Faster, you old plugs!” commanded Jimmy, slashing the imaginary whip. “Faster, or I’ll sell the lot of you!”

Down Walnut Street they galloped, the buggy creaking and protesting in every spring and rivet, and drew up with a final flourish in front of the carriage works.

“Whoa!” shouted Jimmy. “Whoa, you ponies! Say, I guess I’m some driver, fellows! Did you see me pull ’em back on their haunches? Mr. Saunders, please unharness my steeds.”

Mr. Saunders, who had emerged from the shop in response to the hubbub, grinned as he directed Tom to take the buggy further along and run it on to the elevator. “You tell your father that if he wants to sell this he’s to let me know. I might find a customer for it. When you going to fetch that automobile away?”

“Connors said he’d send right over for it,” answered Tom.

“He’s coming now, I think,” said Willard, as a team drawn by a pair of dancing, half-broken colts came around the corner.