“Did you see that fellow just passed by?” “Yes, do you know him?” “I did once--thoroughly. Heard he was in town. The nerve, now!” “Who is he?” “He’s bad all through. Name is Dale Wacker. When Bart Stirling first took his father’s place as express agent here, that fellow’s uncle plotted to down him. Worse than that, he stole a lot of stuff from the express people. The police were after him. Dale, his nephew, was mixed up in it, and had to leave town. Heard he was in jail somewhere for some new exploits. Came back yesterday, I learned. Seemed to have plenty of money and tried to cut a figure showing it. Says he’s a travelling man now, and earning untold wealth. Guess he’s on the way to the depot now, to find new victims to swindle where he isn’t so well known as he is here. I say, who’s in there, anyhow?” As Bob spoke, Markham came climbing up the scantling out of the cistern. He was wet to the knees and looked troubled of face. Frank noticed that he glanced anxiously in the direction of the street. “Better go and get on dry clothes,” suggested Frank. “Oh, this job won’t take us long to finish, now,” answered Markham. “Well, I’ve got some printing to deliver,” said Bob. “Come over to the house after supper, fellows.” “All right,” acquiesced Frank, but Markham said nothing. He acted subdued and worried until the cistern was finished. He stuck closely to the house after the work was done, and made some excuse for not going over to visit Bob and Darry after supper. Frank was slightly disturbed at these actions--secretly he feared that a sight of the fellow Bob had called Dale Wacker had caused Markham to get out of sight. Frank wished he knew why. Frank found his mother and Markham both reading when he came home, about nine o’clock. He kept his eye on the latter as he remarked to his mother that Darry had read to him a little news item he had gathered in for the _Herald_ late that afternoon. It was about a fellow named Dale Wacker, Frank narrated. It seemed he was on his way to the railroad depot, when an old German peddler to whom he had owed money for over two years recognized and hailed him. The peddler gave Wacker a great scoring and demanded his money. A crowd gathered, and Wacker started on his way at a fast walk. The peddler whipped up his horse to keep pace with him, whilst administering a continuous tongue-lashing. The sorry nag did not keep up with the procession as Wacker broke into a run. Seizing a basket of eggs, the peddler jumped down from the wagon. He was a big, fat, unwieldly person, but he pursued the fugitive vigorously. The crowd hooted and yelled as the German began to pelt the eggs after the fugitive. Two eggs struck Wacker in the middle of the back. One shied off his hat and broke on the back of his head. Bespattered and hatless, the fellow reached the depot just in time to grab the platform rail of the last car on a departing train. “Oh, got out of town, did he?” asked Markham quite eagerly.