“What name is signed to it?” inquired Pete.
“Just says ‘Baseball Crank,’” was the reply. “I think it’s a joke.”
“Are you going?” asked Whistle-Breeches.
“Might as well. But I’m going to go easy, and take a look around before I go inside. Maybe I can turn the tables.”
“Tell you what we’ll do,” broke in Cap.
“What?”
“We’ll all go with Bill. Then, if there’s any trouble we can help him. Maybe North or Mersfeld put up this game.”
“That’s right,” agreed Bill. “I’ll be glad if you fellows will come along, though it may be straight after all.”
So, after obtaining from the proctor permission to go to the village on condition that they would be back before locking-up time, the three Smith brothers, and Whistle-Breeches sallied forth. They never suspected there might be a joke perpetrated on them while on their way, rather expecting some game in the village, and so proceeded along the highway in careless ease, singing and joking.