“I haven’t been able to get wind of any, but I guess he’s planning some mischief, all right,” replied Carroll, with a laugh. “I met him on the street yesterday, and he was so effusive that my suspicions were at once aroused. He shook me by the hand as though he had always loved me like a brother; said he hoped that I’d let bygones be bygones and that we’d be good friends—that there was no reason why fellows should be enemies just because they were running rival papers. You know the smooth line of talk that faker can hand out.”
The Camera Chap laughed. “Yes; and, as you say, he’s generally planning some mischief when he lays it on as thick as that. Better keep a sharp lookout, Fred.”
“You can bet I’m going to,” Carroll assured him. “By the way, he spoke about you. Asked me whether I’d seen you lately. And he called you ‘good old Hawley.’”
“Ye gods!” the Camera Chap exclaimed. “He must be planning my assassination at the very least.”
After that telephone conversation Hawley sat for some time on the porch of his host’s bungalow, and his gaze was concentrated wistfully on the steep mountain road which led straight to the town of Oldham.
“Six months in prison for a snapshot!” he mused. “What an adventure! That would, indeed, be a risk worth running! A fellow who could get away with a stunt of that sort would have done something really worth while. And Carroll said that they passed that ordinance especially for my benefit. It would almost be cowardly to refuse the challenge.[Pg 52]”
A messenger boy on a bicycle rode up to the house and interrupted his musings at this point.
“Say, mister, is there anybody here named Hawley?” the youngster inquired.
“There certainly is, son,” the Camera Chap replied. “What have you got? A telegram, eh? Hand it over.”
As he perused the contents of the yellow envelope, he muttered an exclamation of mingled joy and astonishment. The telegram was from Paxton, managing editor of the New York Sentinel, and was worded as follows: