“Why――why, if you gave just as good as he did and charged no more――――” “But he’d have a new building, d’ye see, with, say, a bathroom to every suite and――and a roof-garden on top, and one of those restaurants in the cellar and――” Mr. Meechin was getting quite excited and wrought up at the bare thought of the contingency. He shook his head decidedly. “First come, first served, boys; that’s my motto. Here I am and here I’ve been for thirty years, and my father before me, d’ye see, and what right has a fellow who, maybe, never saw Audelsville before to come and try to ruin my business and put me in the poor house? ’Tain’t fair dealing!” “Well, if you look at it that way,” murmured Willard. “There’s no other way to look at it, right,” said Mr. Meechin decisively. “And it’s the same way with Bill Connors. Bill has his living to make and his family to look after. He needs the money, boys. And――and I guess you don’t――much, eh? It’s a sort of a lark with you, d’ye see?” “It isn’t a lark at all,” replied Tom warmly. “It’s business. We’re in it to make money, and we’ve just as much right to make money as Mr. Connors has. Of course if you say we can’t stop outside your hotel and bid for passengers, that’s all right, but it doesn’t seem quite fair to me, sir.” “It’s fair enough, Tom,” said Willard soothingly, “if Mr. Meechin has an agreement with Connors. I suppose if we stood on the other side of the street and any of your guests chose to walk over there you couldn’t object, sir?” Mr. Meechin hesitated. Finally: “No, I suppose I couldn’t,” he acknowledged. “But I warn you fair, boys, that I’d have to advise my folks to take Connors’ hack. I’ve got to live up to my agreement with Bill, d’ye see.” “That’s all right, sir. And thank you very much. Good morning.” Tom remained indignant for some time. “If we can’t stand at the station and can’t stand at the hotel,” he said bitterly, “I guess we’d better sell The Ark and go out of business right now.” “Maybe, though, we can get permission from the railroad if we write to the superintendent or whoever he said we should write to. It’s worth trying, anyway. And then if Simms will let us stand in front of his shop we might soon get business from the hotel. Men don’t mind walking across the street to save a quarter and get there quicker, I guess. Let’s go and see Simms now.” Simms’ was one of those drug stores that fill their windows with signs and placards of patent medicines, headache cures, and temperance drinks, and very little else. It was a rather dirty, run-down little shop, but as it was directly opposite the entrance of Meechin’s Hotel it did a fair business. Mr. Simms, the proprietor, was a little, light-haired, thin-voiced man of fifty-odd, who looked as though he might be his own best customer for patent remedies. When Willard proffered his request the druggist blinked his eyes for a moment and then smiled craftily.