“Oh, not that kind!” cried Bill quickly. “I mean a little midnight supper up in our rooms. We can do it fine here, as we’re on the same floor. It’s like one big room when the connecting doors are open.”
“We’d get caught sure as blazes,” observed Cap, “and you know our reputations are none too good. I think McNibb suspects us of having something to do with the statue game.”
“Why?” asked Bill.
“Oh, the other day he was up here, snooping around, and he saw a splash of that pink paint on the wall. He went over to it right away, and looked at it like Sherlock Holmes. I was in a nervous sweat, and I thought he’d ask some questions, but he only said: ‘Ah, Smith, that color has a powerful spreading ability; hasn’t it?’”
“And what did you say?” demanded Bill.
“What could I say? Nothing. I just played safety and kept still, and mighty glad I was that he didn’t ask any more. But as I say, I think he suspects us, so we’ve got to be careful.”
“Oh, we can pull this off all right,” declared Bill. “I have a plan.”
“Tell it,” begged Whistle-Breeches. “Things are dull of late. Liven ’em up.”
He had entered just in time to hear Bill’s last remark.
“Well, some big-gun from the other side, England or Germany, is coming here next Friday night, to lecture on pedagogics or something like that. The entire faculty is going, I understand, and only McNibb and the janitors will be on hand. Besides that, the Seniors have some sort of a legitimate blow out, and there’s the Junior concert. So things will be quiet around here, and we can just as well as not have our spread. What do you say, fellows?”