They packed up that same afternoon, after considerable trouble in finding room for the knickknacks they had picked out, and took a carriage to the station. They found no signs to direct them, and had to inquire several times to make sure which was the track upon which they might expect the train for New York. When they thought they were certain of this, they saw a train come in on schedule time and on the proper track. But, to their surprise, a man called out, “Illinois Central train for Cairo and St. Louis!” which threw the crowd into an uncertainty anything but pleasant. Missing a local suburban train is troublesome enough; but missing a train that is going one third across a continent is a disaster.

To their great relief, the obliging colored porters very promptly corrected the stupid error, and they found themselves safely upon the train for New York.

Their journey was a repetition of their trip out, except that this time they stopped to see the Falls of Niagara, viewing them, as young Phinney had done, from above the falls.

“It’s a pity to see them from a distance only,” said Mr. Douglass. “I should like to stay awhile.”

“They are well worth going over carefully,” said Harry, thoughtfully; and Philip looked at him inquiringly.

During the second day on the train, Mr. Douglass was talking to the boys as to their experiences at the Fair; and then Philip’s little adventure, before referred to, came out. As he told the story it ran something like this:

That day when I was taking photographs in the Plaisance, I went into the Cairo Street a second time. I wanted, if possible, to get a picture of the little boy who leads the camels. They stopped me at the door, and while explaining that I had been permitted to take photographs there, I put my camera for a few moments on a camp-chair.

When I looked around for it, my camera was missing. I tell you, I felt pretty mean. At first I didn’t know what to do. I asked the ticket-taker about it, but he hadn’t seen any one take it. Then I thought, quick, what a man would do who had picked up a camera like that, and I made up my mind that he would want to get out of Cairo Street as fast as he could. Of course, most of the people there were sight-seeing, and just moved along slowly. So I hopped up on top of the camp-chair, and looked over the crowd. Luckily, I caught sight of a man with a brown felt hat, who was moving fast through the slow-moving people. I made up my mind that it was my last chance for my kodak, and I went through the crowd like a snowplow through a drift. I kept my eye on that brown felt hat, and pretty soon I caught up to the man. Once I thought I had lost him, for a camel came by, and I had to get out of the way; but I found him again, and, as I said, I got near to him.

I saw at once that he had a camera in his hand, and I was pretty sure it was mine. But just as I was going to catch hold of it, I happened to think it was a serious matter to tell a man he was a thief, and I stopped to make sure what I ought to do. The man was pushing through the crowd so fast that I had no good chance to take a real square look at the camera, so I concluded I would just keep after him till he thought he was clear away. He kept looking behind him at first, but now he began to go slower, as if he thought everything was all right. [“Little dreaming,” Harry put in, “that a sleuth-hound wearing magnifying-glasses was upon his tr-rail!”]

I kept off to his left, and he didn’t see me. Pretty soon he came out into the Fair Grounds, and there weren’t so many people there. He turned toward one of the north entrances, and I kept a sharp lookout for a Columbian Guard. I didn’t take the first one I saw, because he looked sleepy and stupid, and I was afraid he would arrest me; but the next was a soldierly-looking fellow, and after seeing my man was taking it easy, I went to this guard and said:

“That man with the brown felt hat, there, picked up my camera when I wasn’t looking, and walked off with it. I want you to get it back for me.”

“Sure, young fellow?” he said, looking at me hard.

“Sure,” I said; for by that time I had seen a bruise on one corner of the camera where I dropped it once.

“All right,” said he. “Come along. You go after the man, and don’t lose sight of him, and I’ll go around this little building and meet him.”

So we did. And it worked first-rate. The guard was a fly sort of a fellow, and instead of asking the man whether that was his camera, he asked him whether he had a permit for it.

The man stopped and looked puzzled for a minute, then he put on a face as bold as brass, and said: “No, sir. I have not yet obtained one, but I was going to get one.”

“Where were you going for it?” said the guard, to catch him.

“I was about to ask you,” said the man, with a sharp kind of a smile, seeing the guard’s little game. This made the guard lose his temper, and out he came with the whole story.

“This young man here says that camera is his, and that you picked it up,” said the guard.

“The impertinent young rascal!” said the man, who must have been a cool hand.

“We’ll see about that,” said the guard, who began to wonder which of us was lying.

“I don’t propose to be bothered by this young scamp,” said the man, seeing that the guard hesitated a little. “If you will tell me where to obtain a permit for my camera, I shall be obliged to you.”

Well, his coolness staggered the guard, and it did me. I wondered for a minute whether I had made a mistake; but when I looked at the camera, there was the bump on the corner, and I was sure again.

“Ask him,” I said to the guard, “what is the name of his camera.”

“You saucy young villain, I don’t propose to be questioned about this any longer!” said the man, and he turned to walk away. But that decided the guard.

“No, sir!” he said. “You’ll come with me, and we’ll have this question settled.”

The man looked around quick, as if he was wondering what the chances were if he should run for it; but the guard laid his hand on the man’s shoulder, and the swindler then decided to brazen it out.

“Very good,” he said, looking at his watch; “I shall lose my train, but I suppose this absurd matter must be disposed of.”

“But I thought you wanted a permit for your camera?” said the guard, with a grin; and then the man bit his lip. That time he made a mistake.

The guard went to a sort of little sentry-box, and sent out a signal. Pretty soon a patrol-wagon came driving up, and we were taken in it outside of the grounds to a police-station.

“Officer,” said the man to the sergeant (I suppose it was), “this foolish boy has laid claim to my camera, and—”

“Now, don’t be in a hurry,” said the officer, coolly. “I’ll hear the guard first, please.” The guard told the story very clearly and plainly.

“Is that correct?” said the sergeant to me.

“Yes, sir; and I can prove—” I began.

“Go slow, young man,” said the sergeant, motioning to me to stop talking. Then he said to the man who had my camera:

“Is that story correct?”

“Entirely, Sergeant.”

“Very good,” the sergeant said. “Now, young man, how can you prove it is your box?”

“Well,” said I, “it’s a Kodak No. 4, and it has a bruise on one corner.”

“Yes,” said the swindler, “I see. That is what has caused the trouble. Mine has a bruise on the corner, too. I dropped it this morning as I was coming through the turnstile.”

“That’s rather slim proof to arrest a man on,” said the sergeant, looking hard at me. Then I began wondering how I could prove my ownership, and I thought of the pictures I had taken.

“I know!” I said. “I can prove it by the photographs I took. I remember some of them anyway. There was one of—”

“Hold on!—hold on!” cried the sergeant, quick as lightning. “It’s the defendant’s turn now. Perhaps, sir, you will tell us what pictures are in the camera?”

“I am sorry to say that I cannot,” said the man, still polite. He was a smart fellow. “Indeed, the camera belongs to a friend of mine, and he lent it to me this morning for the day. He may have taken pictures with it. I took only one myself, and that was a view of the crowd in Cairo Street. If you will have the pictures developed, you will see that I am right.”

Then I was scared. I wish you could have seen the fellow—he was as cool as a cucumber. He was no common swindler, I’m sure.

“That’s a fair proposal,” said the sergeant, who was puzzled by this queer case. “Let us adjourn to a photographer. And don’t let either of these men get away,” he added, turning to a policeman.

So then we formed in procession, and went around the corner to a photographer’s and into his dark-room. The sergeant explained what we wanted.

But before the photographer began to develop the film, I spoke up and said: “Sergeant, this man probably took one picture just after he picked up the camera. It was all set, and all he had to do was to touch the button. Now, it isn’t likely he knows anything about the camera if he stole it. If he didn’t, his friend must have told him how to work it.”

“I think that’s a sound argument,” said the sergeant. “But suppose you write down all the pictures you remember taking.”

“I don’t know how to manage the camera entirely,” said the man; “but I intended to get the photographer to explain it to me.”

While I was writing down all the pictures I remembered, and the photographer was developing the film, the sergeant turned to the man who had taken my camera, and said quickly: “By the way, what was the name and address of the friend who lent you the camera?”

Well, that staggered the fellow completely. “I brought it from New York,” he began, “and his name is—”

“Don’t trouble yourself to invent a name,” said the sergeant, sharply. “You said he lent it to you this morning for the day. Now, I doubt whether you came from New York this morning. Don’t you think that you may have picked up this camera by mistake for the one your friend lent to you this morning in New York?”

But before the fellow could answer, the photographer said: “The pictures tally with the young man’s list, and the one of the crowd in Cairo Street is a double exposure showing that the film hadn’t been wound up after this young man had taken the previous picture outside.

“And, Sergeant, the funniest part of it all is, that one of the pictures that the young man took just at the door of Cairo Street, shows this man standing looking at the camera, but without any of his own!” and then all the men in the room looked at the thief and grinned.

“Well,” said the sergeant to the man, “what do you think about that mistake?”

“I’m afraid it must have been an error,” said the man, rather shakily. “I picked up this camera thinking it was my own, and—”

The sergeant said sharply, “Now, you get out of here, and quick too. It wouldn’t pay to prosecute you, for you’re too slippery. Get out—quick!” And the man just skipped.

“Now, young man,” said the sergeant, “you take better care of your camera next time. I’ll see you into the grounds again.”

So I thanked him. He saw me through the gate, and that was the end of my adventure. But it was a close shave. I didn’t tell you about it before, for fear you would think I had been stupid.