“We used leaves. They do just as well, and there were heaps on the bank. Well, when we landed, we tied up the boat, and bucked across to the Recreation Ground. We got over the railings—beastly, spiky railings—and went over to the statue. Ye know where the statue stands? It’s right in the middle of the place, where everybody can see it. Moriarty got up first, and I handed him the tar and a brush. Then I went up with the other brush, and we began. We did his face first. It was too dark to see really well, but I think we made a good job of it. When we had put about as much tar on as we thought would do, we took out the leaves—which we were carrying in our pockets—and spread them on. Then we did the rest of him, and after about half an hour, when we thought we’d done about enough, we got into our boat again, and came back.”
“And what did you do till half-past seven?”
“We couldn’t get back the way we’d come, so we slept in the boat-house.”
“Well—I’m—hanged,” was Trevor’s comment on the story.
Clowes roared with laughter. O’Hara was a perpetual joy to him.
As O’Hara was going, Trevor asked him for his gold bat.
“You haven’t lost it, I hope?” he said.
O’Hara felt in his pocket, but brought his hand out at once and transferred it to another pocket. A look of anxiety came over his face, and was reflected in Trevor’s.
“I could have sworn it was in that pocket,” he said.
“You haven’t lost it?” queried Trevor again.