"And you turned on Central Grammar boys to help a lot of High School fellows out?" asked Dick in fine scorn.
"Well, I was crazy to have a day or two out here in the woods, and you fellows didn't ask me," protested Hen. "The other crowd did."
"Yes; because they wanted to use you for a tool against us. They wanted to make you their catspaw, Hen Dutcher. Oh, you must feel fine! And the other Central Grammar fellows back in Gridley will be so proud of you!"
"You don't have to tell 'em," urged Hen Dutcher pleadingly.
"No; we don't have to," confirmed Tom Reade. "But we can. And most likely we will. We want to separate the wheat from the chaff at the old Central Gram."
"But, please don't tell 'em," whined Hen.
"We'll see about that," said Dick Prescott. "We won't make a solitary promise. It may depend on how you act, Hen. Now, is there anything more you ought to tell us about what Fred Ripley's crowd intends to do?"
"No-o-o. I don't believe so."
"Who's with Fred Ripley?"
"Bert Dodge."