That was rather daring, for Dick's condemnation had touched rather closely some forms of mischief that boys always imagine as belonging to them on Hallowe'en night.
However, the general opinion was against quarreling with Dick. Without him and his chums on the streets, the Grammar School boys knew that there wouldn't be as much sport.
"You're trying to think up some good ones, aren't you?" asked Dave, as he and Dick were about to part on the homeward way at noon.
"Yes, of course; but I hope you other fellows have brains that are working faster than mine is to-day."
"Oh, you'll have something ready by to-night," laughed Dave.
"I hope so."
That afternoon the boys and girls in Old Dut's room did not appear to have their minds very much on their lessons. A man of Old Dut's experience knew why.
"I'll stay at home and sit tight on my place to-night," murmured the principal to himself. "Like as not I'm slated to be one of the biggest Hallowe'en victims."
When Dick reached Main Street that evening he found himself instantly the center of a crowd of at least twenty boys from the Central Grammar.
"What'll we do, Dick?" came the hail.