Half the
boxes in the car were labeled 'balloon works' or 'motor works.'
It's a balloon show--nothing else."
"Where is the car going?"
"They ain't consulted me," laughed Tom.
A few moments later Bob was in the office of the division
superintendent. When he left he knew that the Placida would be
dropped on the only siding at the little town of Clarkeville in New
Mexico. He had also looked over the best map in the offices and
fixed in his mind the topography of the adjacent country.
Before half past nine Bob had presented these scattered facts to his
city editor.
"It's a story, all right, Bob, and a good one. Go to it," said the
editor. And Bob did the best he knew how--in a newspaper way. On
the suggestion of the editor he telegraphed to the representative of
the Comet in Chicago: "Who is Ned Napier?" In a little over an hour
he had a hundred and fifty word telegram outlining Ned's aeronautic
career and concluding: "Why? What do you know? Napier not here.
Family won't talk."
Then Bob began his story. It was, for a reporter of his experience,
brilliant, with good deductions, good guesses and good ambiguous
generalities.
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