“Then we’ll add another,” went on Bill, “and in it we’ll disclose the hiding place of the sneaks. Where did you say it would be, Bob?”
“In the clump of rhododendron bushes in front of the statue.”
“Good! Now the plot thickens, and we’ll have to thicken the pink paint. Come on, fellows, get busy. First I’ll prepare the second anonymous letter.”
A few hours later Proctor McNibb was rather surprised to receive a screed, signed with no name, informing him that a plot existed among a certain lot of Freshmen, and that the said plot consisted of a plan to paint the founder’s statue baby-pink.
“If you wish to catch the vandals, be on hand near the statue shortly after midnight,” the anonymous epistle went on.
Now the proctor was an honorable man, and usually did not pay much attention to unsigned letters. But here was one he felt that he must heed. Where it had come from he did not bother his head about.
“Some upper classmen, who have given over such sacrilegious horse-play may have sent it,” he argued, “or the townsman from whom the paint was purchased may have been stricken with remorse, or have a fear that he will be found out. At any rate I’ll catch them red-handed. No, pink-handed I guess,” and the proctor smiled at his joke.
The official’s surprise may be imagined when, shortly after the receipt of the first letter, he got another. Our friends had a spy, in the person of one of the janitors, who did work in that part of the school where Mr. McNibb had his rooms, and the janitor at once informed Bill when there were signs of unusual activity in the proctor’s office.
“It’s their letter!” declared Bill. “Now for ours!” and it was sent, disclosing the information that the would-be painters of the statue would be hidden in the clump of rhododendron bushes.
Then there was a busy time for our friends. Throwing in his lot with the Smith boys and Whistle-Breeches, Bob Chapin helped them in the plot, by pretending to keep Mersfeld and North posted.