ll told, had by now run into
thousands, speaking financially. Staid residents were excited. Rewards
for his capture were being offered in different places. Posses of irate
citizens were, and would continue to be, after him, armed to the teeth,
until he was captured. Quite remarkable developments might be expected
at any time ... I stared. It seemed too ridiculous, and it was, and back
of it all was smirking, chuckling Peter, the center and fountain of it!

"You dog!" I protested. "You clown!" He merely grinned.

Not to miss so interesting a denouement as the actual capture of this
prodigy of the wilds, I was up early and off the following Sunday to
Newark, where in Peter's apartment in due time I found him, his rooms in
a turmoil, he himself busy stuffing things into a bag, outside an
automobile waiting and within it the staff photographer as well as
several others, all grinning, and all of whom, as he informed me, were
to assist in the great work of tracking, ambushing and, if possible,
photographing the dread peril.

"Yes, well, who's going to be him?" I insisted.

"Never mind! Never mind! Don't be so inquisitive," chortled Peter. "A
wild man has his rights and privileges, as well as any other. Remember,
I caution all of you to be respectful in his presence. He's very
sensitive, and he doesn't like newspapermen anyhow. He'll be
photographed, and he'll be wild. That's all you need to know."

In due time we arrived at as comfortable an abode for a wild man as well
might be. It was near the old Essex and Morris Canal, not far from
Boonton. A charming clump of brush and rock was selected, and here a
snapshot of a posse hunting, men peering cautiously from behind trees in
groups and looking as though they were most eager to discover something,
was made. Then Peter, slipping away--I suddenly saw him ambling toward
us, hair upstanding, body smeared with black muck, daubs of white about
the eyes, little tufts of wool about wrists and ankles and loins--as
good a figure of a wild man as one might wish, only not eight feet tall.

"Peter!" I said. "How ridiculous! You loon!"

"Have a care how you address me," he replied with solemn dignity. "A
wild man is a wild man. Our punctilio is not to be trifled with. I am of
the oldest, the most famous line of wild men extant. Touch me not." He
strode the grass with the air of a popular movie star, while he
discussed with the art director and photographer the most terrifying and
con