“I’ll have to read this to Big,” said Tommy, rising. “See you later, fellows. Ta! ta!”
Merriwell and Buckhart were ready to start out for their usual morning walk, and Jones was sitting yawning on the edge of the bed when callers arrived. They were Jack Spratt, Otis Fitch, and Rob Claxton. Hearing them come in, Tucker promptly appeared, followed a moment later by Bouncer Bigelow, who was rubbing his eyes and yawning, his uncombed hair standing up like a topknot.
“Have you fellows seen the morning newspaper?” was Claxton’s anxious inquiry.
“Sure,” answered Tucker. “I took pains to provide them with a few morning shivers by reading the report of a fire that occurred last night.”
“I was in hopes the firemen would be able to save the building,” said Claxton. “I dislike very much to think that I was in any way responsible for that fire.”
“You really were not responsible, Claxton,” said Dick. “None of us fellows were. The really responsible ones are the chaps who carried Tucker into the basement of that building and attempted to have fun with him.”
“Gwathuth!” lisped Fitch. “I’ll never forget the thtart I got when I thaw thothe fellowth. Wonder where they got their cothtumes?”
“Didn’t you read about that in the paper?” asked Tommy. “The shop of Julius Steiger, the costumer, was broken into and looted last night. A number of valuable costumes and wigs were stolen.”
“Which explains the astonishing disguises worn by Tucker’s captors,” said Dick. “While I don’t fancy being mixed up in this affair, I wouldn’t hesitate to testify against those rascals if they were arrested.”
“I wonder what became of that document they persuaded me to sign?” laughed Tommy. “If they ever try to use that paper, it will be their prompt undoing. Of course, old Sate has it in his possession. Oh, I’ll see that chap again, and I’ll know him, too. I’ve got a nice little razzer hidden up my sleeve for Mr. Sate. If I ever get a good opportunity, I’m going to slice him good and deep.”