“Hurrah for Hallowe’en, and all its fun!”
“What’s next on the programme, boys? We’re out for a good time tonight, you know.”
“It isn’t much after eleven at that. Who’s got another clever joke laid out?”
“I have; and when you hear what the game is you’ll all say it’s the boss scheme of the lot, barring none.”
“Listen to Nat, will you? I wondered why he was lugging that bundle around with him all the evening. I guess it’s got something to do with his grand Hallowe’en prank.”
“It has, and a whole lot, Peg Fosdick,” proudly admitted the boy upon whom all eyes were eagerly centered just then.
“Who’s the victim, Nat?” demanded one fellow, the same who had owned to the name of Dan Fenwick.
“Who but that crusty old storekeeper, Jed Nocker,” said the big, overgrown boy with a chuckle of delight. “Everybody else seems to have just gone and clean forgotten all about him tonight.”
At mention of this name all sorts of groans and catcalls arose from the group of seven lads standing on a corner in a quiet, residential part of the usually bustling mill town of Cliffwood.
“The meanest old codger in our town!” exclaimed one fellow, in sheer disgust.