The professor sat at the table absorbed in making some notes in his memorandum book. Frank walked to a little distance and sat down on a rustic seat. He was thoughtful, but his face showed energy.
“I think I have figured out about the mystery of the satchel,” he told himself with some satisfaction. “I don’t think, though, that I will raise the professor’s hopes or burden his mind with any further suspense, until I am sure of my ground. As soon as I reach Boston—hello!”
The farm boy had again come up to him. He regarded Frank shyly, then wistfully, and then blurted out:
“Say, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Fire away,” responded Frank, with an encouraging smile.
“Mr. Dorsett is getting the rig ready, and I’m to drive you over to Woodhill. You’ve sort of riled me all up coming here and I wanted to get it off my mind.”
“How is that?” asked Frank, wonderingly.
“Why, from what I heard you say I guess you’re show people,” said the lad.
“Well, we are in what is called the movies line—yes,” admitted Frank.
“That’s still better,” declared the boy. “Here’s the way it is! I want to break into the business. It’s a new idea and I want a chance before it gets stale. I was sort of born to the show line. You see, my father was a lion tamer. He’s dead now. My uncle is with a menagerie out West. He settled me in a comfortable home here, but I just dream all the time about the show life I know I’d just love. Many a time I’ve had a mind to go to my uncle, whether he liked it or not, or run away from here and join a show.”