“Dandy! Come on and let’s get back.”
They arose from their table and sauntered out. Their conversation had been conducted for the most part in low tones and Kendall had missed a word here and there, but more than enough had reached him to give him a very good idea of the plot. What it all meant was beyond him, however. Why those fellows should want to drive at ten o’clock at night all the way to Yardley to paint a flagpole green he couldn’t see. Evidently, though, it was a sort of practical joke on Yardley. It seemed to him a lot of bother for a small result.
He saw the Broadwood boys out of sight and then left the store himself. He forgot all about the window displays on the way back along the street, being busy with his thoughts. Of course he ought to tell someone about the prank, but he wondered who. Harold Towne somehow didn’t recommend himself in such an emergency. Of course he had no thought of telling the faculty; he had very well-settled ideas of right and wrong, and to inform the faculty and probably get the conspirators into trouble would be, in his opinion, talebearing pure and simple; which is something that a right-minded boy holds in the deepest contempt. Then he thought of Gerald Pennimore and of Dan Vinton, and he had about made up his mind to seek the former when he reached school when an entirely new and brilliant idea came to him. He stopped short in the road and gave vent to an expressive whistle. Finally he said “Why not?” aloud, nodded his head twice and went on.
When he reached the school boundary at the foot of The Prospect he stopped and studied the lay of the land.
“Here,” he said to himself, “is about where the carriage will stop. Then they’ll get out and—”
He paused there. The flagpole stood in the middle of The Prospect, a natural terrace in front of Oxford Hall. He glanced up at it from the foot of the hill. The stars and stripes hung motionless from the halyards. To reach the pole the enemy might either follow the roadway, which wound up the hill at the expense of distance, or ascend the steep, grassy slope of The Prospect. Kendall believed they would do the latter, since they would be out of sight until they reached the top. Further to the left there was a footpath up the slope, but that would bring them out almost in front of Merle and some distance from their scene of operations. In any case, he decided, if the enemy was to be foiled in its nefarious designs it must be when they had reached the flagpole. Luckily, the entrance to Oxford Hall provided a perfect place of concealment for the repulsing force. Kendall wondered whether there would be a moon, recalled the fact that there had been none last night and concluded that only the stars would be likely to illumine the scene. He wanted to try the ascent up the slope himself just to see if it was practicable, but several fellows were in sight returning from Greenburg and he decided not to. Instead he made his way to Whitson along the drive, found Number 21 deserted and, curling himself on the window seat, set about perfecting his plan. Once he arose, crossed to the table, picked up Harold’s electric torch and dropped it into his pocket. Then he went back to the window seat and his plotting.
[CHAPTER VI]
AND FOILS IT
Kendall thought Harold would never get to sleep that night. Hoping that his roommate would follow the example, Kendall piled into bed at half-past nine, but Harold, who usually yawned all through study hour and got between the sheets as soon as possible afterwards, to-night displayed a most unusual and annoying wakefulness. Even after he was in bed and the light was out he wanted to talk, and only stopped when Kendall simulated slumber by making hideous noises in his throat. Had Harold been of an observant nature he would have remarked on the sudden development of this accomplishment, for Kendall had never been known to snore until to-night.