“That’s an ugly way of putting it,” protested his honor, with a deprecating smile. “We won’t call it being banished. I am going to ask you, as a favor to me, to cut your vacation short, and return to New York.”
“And suppose I refuse to go?”
“You won’t refuse,” was the grim reply. “You impress me as being a sensible young man. I suppose you realize, Mr. Hawley, that we can send you to jail, right now, for taking those snapshots without a license. We have a clear case against you.”
The Camera Chap nodded. “Yes, I suppose you have.”
“But I don’t want to send you to jail,” the mayor continued. “I like you, and, as I said before, I admire the pluck and cleverness you displayed in getting those pictures. I think it would be a great pity to put such a talented man behind bars. So I am giving you this chance.”
He glanced at the clock on the wall. “It is just four p. m. There is a train for New York at seven. I guess you ought to be able to get ready in three hours. Will you promise me to leave on that train, Mr. Hawley?”
The Camera Chap smiled ruefully.
“I suppose I have no choice in the matter. I hate to leave Oldham, but, of course, I’d rather do that than go to jail.”
There was a long pause. The mayor seemed to be turning something over in his mind. His keen gaze was fixed searchingly upon the Camera Chap’s face, and twice his lips moved, as though he were about to speak, but each time the words remained unspoken.
Then, with sudden decision, he leaned forward in his chair, and said quietly: