“I guess a whitewash one will do. Maybe the professor has one—or a big sponge, such as he uses for cleaning his wagon.”
“Fine!” cried Chapin. “Oh, I can just see the faculty when they file past the bronze statue, done to a beautiful baby pink! Great! No more will the lordly Seniors boast of having once run a dump cart into the class room. The Sophs with their little trick of putting tar on the bell tower will take a back seat, and the Juniors, whose stronghold, so far, has been the horrible task of burning red fire under Prexy’s windows, will be green with envy. Oh, what a lucky day this has been!”
“It isn’t over yet,” remarked Cap significantly.
“Well, I’ll see Clatter and get the stuff,” promised Bill. “Then we’ll meet and do the decorating. How many are in on it?” asked the pitcher, pausing in his planning.
“We don’t want too many,” spoke Chapin cautiously. “Us four perhaps, Bondy and Whistle-Breeches if you like, as they’re on this corridor.”
“Not Bondy,” said Pete quickly. “We’ll let Whistle-Breeches in, but Guilder isn’t in our set. He wouldn’t come if we asked him, and we’re not going to. Besides, he might squeal.”
“Well, five are enough,” said Chapin. “Now I’ll depend on you to get the paint, Bill.”
“And I’ll get it.”
“Fare thee well, then,” and with another cautious listening at the door, Chapin took himself out.
“Well?” asked Cap, of his brothers a little later, when they had sat in silence pondering over the plan.