He had a vague idea in his mind that Markham was afraid to show himself publicly in the city, for some reason or other. Frank even speculated as to the possibility of Markham being disguised. He looked, acted and talked like a boy about his own age. The moustache, however, suggested that he was a young man of about twenty. Frank made his new acquaintance promise positively he would be on the train. He went back to the depot and bought another ticket to Greenville. He was somewhat anxious and impatient until the train started up. There was a first stop at the limits of the city. Just as the train steamed ahead again, some one entered at the rear door of the coach. “Hello--good,” exclaimed Frank, as Markham quietly sat down in the seat beside him. “Why--” Frank paused there, staring at his fellow-passenger. Markham had washed the grime from his face. He no longer wore the cap pulled down over his eyes. Looking bright as a dollar, he smiled, pleasantly. “Pretty grimy, wasn’t I?” he laughed. “Why, yes,” stammered the puzzled Frank, “but say--what has become of your moustache?” CHAPTER XII A BOY WITH A MYSTERY The boy who called himself Markham flushed scarlet at Frank’s sudden words. His hand went with a quick, nervous movement to his upper lip. He looked dreadfully embarrassed. “Never mind,” said Frank abruptly, trying to make it easy for the young fellow. “You look better without it.” Markham had gained time now to cover his confusion. He swallowed a lump in his throat and smiled feebly. “You see,” he stammered somewhat, “that wasn’t a real moustache--that one I’ve dropped.” “Oh, wasn’t it?” said Frank. “No. How I happened to have it was this,” explained Markham, rather lamely, but with apparent truth. “See?” and he produced from a pocket two false moustaches and as many small goatees. “Fact is, I wanted to earn some money. I saw a peddler selling those things on a street corner. They went like hot cakes. I asked him where he bought them. He told me, said he had taken them up only temporarily to make a little pocket money. He was nearly sold out, and offered me about a dozen of them for a quarter. I sold nearly all of them, and then went to the address he gave me to stock up again. They wouldn’t sell under a gross--three dollars and sixty cents, I think the price was. I didn’t have that much, so my scheme fell down.” Markham now took a printed circular from his pocket, as if to verify his statement. Frank glanced over it with increasing interest. It advertised a city firm supplying street peddlers with all kinds of goods. “Yes,” said Frank, “I noticed a man selling these same articles on a street corner. It’s a pretty catchy novelty with boys and young men.” “It is, for a fact,” declared Markham. “Look here: did you ever see ‘Teddy’s Teeth?’ That’s an old novelty--look.”