The amazement of Smithers, the proprietor of the circus, may be imagined. The last time he had seen Texas was while Mark Mallory (Professor Salvatori) had been making a speech to the crowd in the dime museum tent, when Texas had made an attack upon the professor and been chased out of the town. Here he was again, driving a buffalo in the Hudson. And there was Professor Salvatori, too, still in his old tennis blazer, talking to the cowboy without a trace of anger. Truly it was puzzling.
There were other people thought that, too, as the Seven outlandishly costumed creatures turned and started to hurry away. Nobody there had the least idea who they were; the idea of their being cadets had never occurred to a soul—that is, except one. It is our purpose to tell about him now.
He was a young man, spry and chipper. In one hand he held a rather portly notebook and in the other a fountain pen. He had been making all sorts of inquiries of Smithers and his men, assuming the killingly businesslike air always worn by young reporters, who think thereby to hide the fact that they are young. This young reporter thought he had right here the chance of his lifetime to make himself famous. He saw a chance for three columns on the first page about the things that had happened to Smithers’ circus that day and he meant to work that chance for every word it was worth.
As we have said, a vague sort of an idea had flitted across his mind that they were cadets; if they were they would not want to tell; but also if they were it would mean a still bigger chance for him. And he registered a solemn vow that he was going to trace this mystery up if he died for it.
So when he saw the Seven sneak away he followed and spoke to them, notebook in hand.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “I wish you would let me have your names and full particulars about this matter. I’m a reporter, from the New York Globe, and I must get the facts.”
The alarm which his announcement created served to increase his suspicions. The Seven held a consultation, at the end of which one of them, evidently their leader, responded:
“We can’t give our names.”
“Why not?” inquired the reporter.
“We don’t want to.”