It was a relief to Dick when he found that Peter Smith was the hotel keeper with whom he had already talked, and that Dave Hardy was the guide. The men separated, each one working in his own way; but in a few minutes they were all back in the telegraph office; and all had found out just what Dick knew before, that the chief was only out on a pleasure excursion. While there was news in prospect, these seven newspaper men had held aloof from one another; each was suspicious of the others, and each preferred to make his own inquiries without any confidence. But now that the work was over, with no chance of anybody “beating” the others, they were all the best of friends, and as jolly companions as a lot of schoolboys just let out for recess. “It would be folly for us to drive five miles out to see the chief,” the Herald man said, “when we know that he is not here on business. Anyhow he couldn’t do anything without coming here to the station and telegraph office. There’s nothing for us to do but telegraph the facts in a few words and go to bed. I’ve sent my engine back; it’s too expensive a luxury to keep.” “That’s all we can do,” echoed the World man, “as far as business goes. But I have an important duty to perform. My stomach has been on strike for the last three or four hours, and I’m going over to the hotel to order some supper. Any of you fellows want to eat?” “Yes, yes, yes!” burst from six other throats. “We all want to eat. We’re starving, every one of us. Order suppers for seven, Mr. World, to be ready in half an hour. Don’t forget the raw oysters and broiled lobsters and about fourteen Welsh rarebits.” “You’ll be lucky if you get ham and eggs,” said the Tribune man, who knew the ways of country hotels. “But they’ll have some bottled Bass. Let’s see; seven of us, are there? Have them put fourteen bottles of Bass on ice, World.” “None for me,” Dick interrupted; “I don’t want any Bass.” “Twelve bottles then;” and the World man disappeared to arrange for the suppers, while the others sat down on tables and boxes to write their brief dispatches. The loungers about the telegraph office, all greatly interested in the scene, did not quite know what to make of these seven newspaper men. Half an hour before they had avoided one another, had little to say, and seemed to be at swords’ points; and now here they were chatting in the most friendly way, as if they were all old friends, and ordering suppers together. While they were writing, the Age man touched Dick lightly upon the knee and inclined his head toward the door in a way that meant an invitation to come out. He was hardly older than Dick, the Age man; but he had much more to say, and was inclined to be boisterous in his manner. Dick followed him out to the platform. “You’re from the Transport, ain’t you?” the Age reporter asked when they were alone outside. “Yes,” Dick replied.