“We get a different crowd next time,” Doug said. He had just come up. “Cattle men. Cowboys. Do you suppose they are a patient lot too?”
“Hope they won’t need to be,” Goggles smiled. “Cowboys! Well, you don’t think of them as a quiet sort of people. Whirling over the prairie shouting enough to split your ears—that’s my notion of them.”
“Say,” Doug asked in a low tone, “who do you suppose I saw in the crowd?”
“Who?”
“The little dark man.”
“What! How’d he get here? Where is he now?”
“He’s vanished. Been looking all over for him.”
“Wonder what it means?” said Goggles. “Wonder if he’ll be at the next place?”
“Mystery wings!” he murmured once more as he hurried away. Why did he say that? Perhaps he himself could not have told.
That same afternoon Johnny took his secret regarding the thought-camera to good old Professor George. He did not tell him all he knew, not nearly all, but enough to, in a way, outline the problem. What he really wished to know was, just how much right he had to keep such a secret.