"I wonder!" said Jack to himself. The idea seemed to hold water. Humbolt hiding on Dog-face! A little startling, but quite likely. Jack smiled grimly at the thought that, if his suspicions were correct, it was fortunate that Tiger had not found the intruders in possession of the lair. "Might have turned nasty," he murmured.
"Or, perhaps, it is only an old tramp ..." reflected the boy, turning over, and yielding himself to sleep.
In the morning Jack awoke, conscious of having forgotten something. Not the Humbolt suspicion—that could wait. Then he remembered. To-day was Friday—the great day fixed by the Cripples for the downfall of the Crees.
"Jingo," said Jack, "I'd nearly forgotten. Patchie, you old impostor, what about the bean-feast to-night?"
"Bean-feast, comrade?"
"Certainly. Aren't you going to the great banquet, spread or luncheon, that the Crees are giving in the old Science room?"
"Comrade, it had escaped my mind for the moment. However, I believe I am right in saying that all is in readiness for knocking the stuffing out of the despicable Cripples?"
"That's so, my genial old lunatic! And how progresses the Busy Bee—that organ of wit and learning?"
Patch smiled, and indicated a pile of printed sheets that lay on the study table. "Those," he said, "are the inside pages—we're having eight pages in all. The remaining four pages will not go to press until—"
"Exactly," chimed in Jack. "Until—what?" And, winking at his pal, he laughed heartily.