“How many brushes did you get, Jim?”
“Two,” replied the tall youth.
“What’s the matter with four, one for each of us?”
“You can slap on the paint if you want to,” was the reply. “I’m not crazy about it. But somebody has got to keep watch. Besides, if more than two of us try to paint the pole we’ll get in each other’s way.”
“I think we ought to paint a few B’s around, so they’ll know who did it.”
“Yes, that would be a fine scheme!” said another sarcastically. “You must want to get fired from school. They’d raise a row at Yardley and we’d get found out. I don’t half like the idea of that carriage, anyway.”
“Pshaw, they aren’t going to tell at the livery stable. Besides, I don’t intend to walk all the way, and you can bet on that!”
“You talk like a rabbit,” said a former speaker. “Don’t you suppose they’re going to know who painted their old flagpole even if we don’t sign our name to the job?”
“The fellows up there will know, but the faculty won’t be sure it wasn’t some of their own chaps. They have class colors up there, and green’s one of them.”
“Green and white; Third Class,” corroborated another. “Wouldn’t it be a peach of a joke if they blamed their own Third Class fellows for it?”