“There he is, now,” Bob stuttered. “He’s here again.”
“I saw his face,” shouted Bob pointing toward a young man in new overalls and cheap gloves who was running down a little tramway on which a car carried some castings.
“Was it Stewart?” panted Ned equally excited.
“Sure’s you’re born,” exclaimed Bob. “He certainly has nerve. Hey, you!” yelled Bob out of the open window.
Their older companions having joined them there was a quick explanation.
“A Herald reporter!” almost shouted President Atkinson.
“And he’s been here four or five days trying to get a line on the Ocean Flyer,” broke in Alan angrily.
Mr. Atkinson started on a run for the door but a word from the Herald manager halted him.
“The horse is stolen now,” began the editor, smiling. “Any way, I’ll guarantee you against the young man’s causing any trouble. Have some one bring him here. We’ll see what this means. He’s certainly persistent.”
“All of that,” replied Mr. Atkinson coldly. “We don’t care much for spies around here.”