THE RED PAINT
Pursuing those who had given them the shampoo, Joe and his chums found themselves trailing down a side street in the darkness.
“I wonder what they’re up to,” ventured Spike.
“Oh, some more monkey business,” declared Ricky. “If they try it on any more Freshmen though, we’ll take a hand ourselves; eh?”
“Sure,” assented the others.
“There they go—around the corner—and on the run!” suddenly exclaimed Slim Jones. “Get a move on!”
Our friends broke into a trot—that is, all but Joe. He tried to, but stepping on a stone it rolled over with him, and he felt a severe pain shoot through his ankle.
“Sprained, by Jove!” he exclaimed. “I’m glad it isn’t the baseball season, for I’m going to be laid up.”
He halted, and in those few seconds his companions, eager in the chase, drew ahead of him in the darkness, and disappeared around another corner.
“I can’t catch up to ’em,” decided Joe. “Wonder if I can step on the foot?”