“Say, I guess there’s something in those Smith boys after all,” remarked Mr. Flint, who had torn his score card to bits as he wildly whooped himself hoarse while watching the home run.
“Well, they might be worse,” conceded Mr. Henderson.
CHAPTER V
OFF FOR WESTFIELD
Whether it was because their trick of putting holes in the Smith boys’ boat did not work, or because they wanted to get even with the brothers on general principles was not made clear, but certain it was, that a few days after the closing ball game, Beantoe and Spider made another attempt to perpetrate something on our heroes.
“This time it will come off all right,” Spider had assured his crony.
“It ought to; we spent time enough on it,” said the stumbling lad. “I certainly hope it does.”
With much labor and secrecy the two conspirators had made a lot of sharpened stakes, and tied stout cords to them. They had also prepared a quantity of molasses and lampblack.