"Seen any other showmen about town this morning?"
"No; not any that I know, nor any with paper and brush under his arm."
"H-m-m-m," mused the showman. "That's queer. It can't be that the young man across the way has got the start of us. No; that is not possible. He is too green for that. Have his men gone out on the country routes yet, or are they still asleep?"
"I don't know. Nobody has seen a living soul around that car this morning, so far as I know."
"I'll go over town and do a little squaring on my own hook.
I'll soon find out who has been heading us off, if anyone has."
The manager hurried off with his assistant, but even he was unable to get any information.
He was baffled and perplexed. He did not understand it. Tactics entirely new had been sprung on him. He was an expert in the old methods of the game, but these were different.
In the meantime, Phil Forrest, the young advance agent, sat calmly in his stateroom, now and then receiving a report from Teddy Tucker who sauntered in under cover of a string of freight cars on the opposite side, then slipped out again.
Teddy was Phil's blockade runner this day.
At noon the party on the rival car all adjourned for luncheon, and there they were joined by their manager, who discussed the queer situation with them. This was the time for Phil Forrest.