“Insulation, of course,” spoke up Sherman Ward, from the outskirts of the group. He was tall enough to look over the heads of most of the fellows, and spoke with a certain authority. “If he hadn’t used them he’d have got the shock as he did the first time. That’s some idea, though, fellows. I don’t believe I’d have remembered, right off the bat, that paper was a non-conductor. Who was he, Court?”
“Nobody knows; that’s the funny part of it.” Court thrust back a dangling lock of brown hair with a characteristic gesture. “It was pretty near dark, and everybody was excited, and all that, Mrs. Warren told Dad when he was over this morning. She said she only noticed that he wasn’t so very tall and carried his papers in a bag over one shoulder. She forgot all about him till after they’d got the kid into the house and the doctor had come. Then when she sent somebody out to see, the chap had gone.”
At once the throng of boys was plunged into a fever of interested speculation. The idea of an unknown appearing suddenly out of the darkness, doing his spectacular stunt, and slipping away again without revealing himself appealed tremendously to the imagination. The fact that he was a boy and quite possibly one of themselves vastly increased the interest. One after another the various fellows with paper routes were suggested, but for the most part as quickly dismissed. One was too tall, another delivered in a different part of town, two more were part of the present assemblage and reluctantly denied any connection with the affair.
“Maybe it was that fellow Tompkins,” doubtfully suggested Bob Gibson, when most of the other possibilities had been exhausted. “He goes past Pine Street, doesn’t he?”
A sudden low laugh touched with scorn, from the outskirts of the circle, turned all eyes to where Ranny Phelps leaned against the iron railing.
“You’re quite a joker, aren’t you, Bob?” commented the blond chap, with a flash of his white teeth.
Gibson sniffed. “I don’t see anything so awful funny in that,” he retorted. “He does go past Pine Street about every night; I’ve seen him often.”
“Quite possibly,” agreed Phelps, suavely. “I never said he didn’t, you old grumbler. He probably went past last night, but take my word for it he didn’t turn in. You don’t suppose that thickhead would have the gumption to do what this chap did, or the wit to know about paper being a non-conductor, and all that? Not in a thousand years!”
Bob’s mouth set stubbornly; he was one who never lost a chance to argue. “I don’t see it at all!” he retorted. “Just because you say so doesn’t make him thick. I noticed you picking on him last night, and I tell you right now that anybody might seem–”
“He didn’t seem brainless–he was,” interrupted Phelps with cool, scornful certainty. “A fellow who could manage to fall over his feet as many times as he did in that simple little drill, and make as many breaks–”