“Got plenty of the magoozilum?”
“Sure. We’ll daub it on thick.”
“They can’t be after Freshmen,” mused Joe. “I wonder what’s up?”
He looked across the street in the direction where, evidently, the unseen ones were directing their attention.
“A lot of the profs. live there,” mused Joe. “I have it! Some one’s going to play a trick on ’em to get even. I’ll just pipe it off!”
He had not long to wait. Out of the shadows stole two figures, and, even in the dimness he recognized one of them as Ford Weston. The other he did not know.
“Come on!” hoarsely whispered the ’varsity pitcher to his chum. “I’ll spread it on thick and then we’ll cut for it. Separate streets. I’ll see you in the morning, but keep mum, whatever happens.”
The two figures ran silently across the street, and paused in front of a detached house. One seemed to be actively engaged at the steps for a few minutes, and then both quickly ran off again, the two separating and diving down side streets.
“Huh! Whatever it was didn’t take them long,” thought Joe. “I wonder what it was? Guess I’ll——”
But his half-formed resolution to make an investigation was not carried out. He heard shouting down the street, and thinking it might be a crowd of Sophomores, he decided to continue on to his room.