“I’ll ring, anyway,” he said to himself.
As the lad expected, there was no response.
“Nothing doing,” he growled. “Hasn’t this been a real peach of a day! But I’m not done with the Rambler Club yet.”
Victor didn’t enjoy himself during the rest of the afternoon. He visited the wharf again, only to find the “Fearless” still missing, and finally, tired and disgusted, wandered off to the public library.
The afternoon waned; then night threw a mantle of blackness over the city. After supper at a convenient restaurant, he decided to take a flying look at “Spudger’s Peerless,” then return to the hotel.
A bleak wind continually moaned and howled, seizing upon the telegraph wires as an instrument to send forth musical chords. Many of the streets were lonely and frigidly silent. Victor, not accustomed to being out at night, passed shadowy, mysterious-looking corners with a touch of fear tugging at his heart. He was glad indeed to see a fantastic array of lights coming into view and the circus tents faintly luminous against the sky.
At length he found himself among the throngs crowding toward the barker’s stand. And once there the lawyer’s son received the surprise of his life. It was difficult to credit either his eyes or ears.
He stopped short, to stare in utter bewilderment at a familiar face and form.
“Why—why, it’s Brownie—Brownie—sure as I live!” he gasped. “Well, by George!”
No words could quite express Victor Collins’ astonishment. He felt, too, a pang of disappointment in the realization that his plan for humbling Dave had so completely failed. He edged his way further forward, listening eagerly to every word of the barker’s stirring appeal.