In the excitement attendant upon the suppression of the incipient revolution no one observed a spectator who watched the proceedings from a sheltered position directly opposite the main entrance of the village. No one overheard his chuckles or saw him twirl the ends of his waxed moustache with a little gesture expressive of pleased satisfaction with himself. For that matter no one had seen one of his assistants unload three cases of Chianti from a push-cart in the rear of Mumbo Tom’s dwelling late in the afternoon during a particularly heavy downpour of rain or had overheard the announcement that the villagers were requested to drink to Signor Antonio Amato’s health. And there was no one to overhear the signor murmur as he stole back to his office through the gathering darkness. “I tella dem I putta de park on de bum.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Chapter Ten Fifteen minutes after peace had been declared McClintock and Jimmy, both thoroughly soaked and decidedly uncomfortable, foregathered in the latter’s office for a comparison of notes and a general consultation. “That’d make a pippin’ of a story if you’d dare to let it get out,” ventured the press agent as he wrung out the corner of his saturated coat into a waste-basket. “Well, I don’t take the dare,” returned the manager peevishly. “That’s one story that the censor isn’t going to let get through if he can stop it.” “What’s the harm?” inquired Jimmy innocently. McClintock looked him over carefully before replying. “What’s the idea?” he remarked scornfully. “Is your reason tottering on its throne? Don’t you know that if this thing got out it’d scare away the family parties that are the backbone of our patronage? You couldn’t induce women to come within half a mile of the park if they heard about this rumpus. They’d think it might happen again any minute and they’d remain away in a body—and they’d keep father and the boys away too. Get that straight.” “There’s something in it, I guess,” opined Jimmy slowly. “You put your money three ways on that. You’ve got a new job tonight, mister man. You’ve got to forget about putting things in the papers. It’s up to you to keep something out for a change.” “Maybe somebody’ll blab the whole thing.” “I’ve issued orders to have everyone instructed to give an imitation of a tongue-tied clam, but so dog-goned many people were in on this that it’s pretty certain there’ll be a leak somewhere. That’s where you come in.” “What can I do?” inquired the press agent ruefully. He was plainly displeased with the vista opened up by his superior.