But look as he would, he could see no further sign of a trespasser. Of
course that was no sign the unknown might not be within twenty feet of
them, right then. The tall piles of lumber offered splendid hiding-places
if any one was disposed to take advantages of the nooks; Jack had
explored many a snug hole, when roaming through the yard at various
times, and ought to know about it.

"Oh! I took care of that part," chuckled Tom Betts. "I saw you were
talking with Jack and old Hans, so I just stepped up, and walked around
the boxes. There isn't a thing on 'em but the name of the professor, and
Jack's dad's address in Stanhope."

"And they didn't look much like animal cages to me," muttered Bobolink;
upon which both of the others emitted exclamations of surprise, whereupon
the speaker seemed to think he ought to make some sort of explanation, so
he went on hastily: "You see, Jack, I somehow got a silly idea in my mind
that p'raps this little professor was some sort of an animal trainer, and
meant to come up here, just to have things quiet while he did his little
stunts. But that was a punk notion for me, all right; there ain't any
smell of animals about those boxes, not a whiff."

"But what in the wide world gave you that queer notion?" asked Tom.

"Don't know," replied Bobolink, "'less it was what Jack said about
the professor writing up from Coney Island near New York City; that's
the place where all the freaks show every summer. I've been down
there myself."

"Listen to him, would you, Jack, owning up that he's a sure enough freak?