The Clio messenger. (Clio, Mich.) 1907-current, 1914-11-06

Il do not know that, either" re-
sponded Beau-Jean.
Next morning the eight set out to-
gether for the city. Whatever strange
undertaking Pedro was considering
they would all go along and assist IL
possible. And so, without any idea
save that of action. they set forth, de-
termined though indefinite.
The coppers OF yesterday were all
step toward the beginning of day
being accomplished, they betook them
selves to the railroad track and walked
beside 1t. But noon came and passed,
and still no granite towers doomed be-
fore their expectant eyes. Finally, to
rest themselves. they turned from the
wearying. shining vista of rails, and
seated themselves upon the dead grass
beside the mile post that bore the dis
couraging legend:
N. Y. rs M.-Harrison I M.
BY this time all were tired and hun
cry. Worse yet, the bears were hun
gry-a condition to be reckoned with
before the need of the masters.
Let us CO." suggested Pedro. Into
the town which this dusty road leads
to. and dance the bears. pass the hat,
and eat, eh?"
The suggestion needed no second
ing. With groans and complaints they
got to their feet again, and set off for
the village.
But fate was not smiling upon them
just then. The town was almost de-
serted at this hour. Besides which,
near the end Of the performance, Toto,
who was supposed to Sing" raised his
voice from his usual growing mono
tone to hungry growl. That sent the
watchers running off in all directions.
Ruefully Old Nita counted the earn
ings.
"Only seven pennies in ALL" she
complained. Better to have rested
beside the railroad"
1T is not enough to feed one bear,
even," remarked Beau-Jean, land am
as hungry as two"
Meanwhile Pedro was talking to
himself. You got them into this;
otherwise they would have travelled
the reguler way. Now you get them
out" Then Pedro noticed a dingy
lunch wagon by the broken curb,
some fifty feet away. At the entrance
to 1t stood fat man with a dismal,
flabby face. His hands were tucked
beneath an apron whose immaculate
Wilderness shone out conspicuously
among the gray surroundings. The
man was motionless, as though he had
become petrified while waiting for Gus
toners who never came.
"Ah!" said Pedro aloud, 81 have an
idea! Stay where you are, all of you,
until l beckon"
Then, thrusting his hands into his
pockets, he strolled nonchalantly away
in the direction Of the lunch wagon.
It was a dingy affair. as has been
| said, and upon its tawdry sides the
lettering had grown dim. Still, 1t was
easy enough to make out the inscrip-
ton:
The Elite
Pies, Coffee, MIX, Frankfurters
Over the doorway was an invitation
to walk In" and underneath this the
owners name-"Isaac Lovejoy, Prop"
had been printed small. Pedro
sided up to the individual who, 1t
would seem, bore this name and title.
Business thriving bout here?"
asked Pedro conversationally, by way
of an opening.
The man gave him a glance. but
without moving to do so.
"Nope!" he replied.
What! In a place where travellers
must pass SO often?" Pedro exclaimed.
lifting his eyebrows.
"Yep!" said the man, still motion
less.
What is the trouble? Are there
no travelers"
Travellers, all right" said the fat
| man, "but no customers! No one stops
here!"
whats the trouble, do you Think
Pedro inquired.
"The lunch-wagon trust!" exclaimed
the man. 'I'm an independent, am /;
but everywhere l go where there
might be good business doin'-say a
corner near factory, or any such
real wide-awake place-one of them
trust wagons Is there before me, ali
shined up an covered with gold paint
an plate glass! A fellow like me
amt got no show"
"Why don't you spruce up a little,
then, eh?" asked Pedro.
"Why don't you buy somethin' SOS
I'll get the money for to buy the gold
paint within" retorted the other.
Because / have no money" Pedro
replied.
Same reason here, in answer to
your first" cried the fat man trium-
phantly.
"Supposing, now" said Pedro, that
could put you on the right track
IN com mating with those trusta oh ?''