So swiftly had Tom moved, that by the time Dick Prescott reached the street both pursuers and pursued were a block away and going fast. Dick was about to join the chase when his father called after him:
"Dick! Dick! Come back here!"
"Yes, sir," replied young Prescott, halting, wheeling, then springing back. "But that scoundrel smashed the rear store window!"
"No, he didn't," laughed Mr. Prescott. "That was Tom Reade, and he was playing a trick on you—-with our permission. Now he's being chased. Do you want to go out and aid that crowd in capturing him?"
"Of course I don't, sir," replied Dick, who knew full well that such a sturdy high school athlete as Tom Reade was in very little danger of being caught by any citizen runners to be found on the street at that time of night. "But what did Tom do, Dad?"
"I don't just know," admitted the bookseller. "Reade told us there would be a smash of glass, but that it would be harmless. He warned your mother, Dick, so that she wouldn't he startled when it came. Tom did the right thing in warning your mother. I wish all boys could realize that only cowards and fools go about frightening women."
"But something else happened," insisted Mrs. Prescott. "I wonder what it was?"
"Suppose we take a lantern and go out in the back yard and see," proposed Dick.
While Dick was finding the lantern the elder Prescott closed the front of the store, also drawing down the shades for the night.
Dick's mother followed him into the rear yard. The fragments of the bottle under one of the store windows told the whole story to one as experienced in jokes as Dick Prescott.