A moment more Bronson hesitated, then reluctantly handed it to Fred. The note ran as follows:
"Clothespin, bring your credentials to the Witches' Pool by eight o'clock to-night. By order of the Big Six. Show this to Cotton-Top at your peril."
"That's some of Soda's doings," said Fred. "I'm not surprised he didn't want you to let me know about it. But I wonder what he means by your credentials?"
"Why, the papers I must get to show I am a member of the Second Form, I suppose."
"What papers? Who's been telling you such stuff?"
"Soda." And briefly Bronson related to his new friend the incidents of his reception when he introduced himself.
So absorbed had both boys been in the note that not until the creaking of a door, cautiously opened, reached his ears did Fred realize the conspirators were on the lookout to see when the note was discovered. But at the tell-tale sound, he grabbed Bronson by the arm, and with a whispered "Come with me," led him rapidly out the side door and round to the back of the building.
"Where are you going?" eagerly inquired his companion, as Fred slackened his pace.
"To get even with Soda, of course."
"But he hasn't done anything to you."