“I got the poles at the lumber yard. It only took a minute, and they’ll forget all about it. The thumbtacks I’ve had for a year or so. And the blue paint—” Alf chuckled.
“What about that?” asked Durfee.
“Found it in Mr. McCarthy’s room and borrowed it.” (Mr. McCarthy was the janitor, and had a repair shop in the basement of Oxford Hall.) “We’re safe enough if we can get back to bed without being spotted.”
“Hope so,” answered Chambers. “Wish I were there now. What’s that?” He stopped, and Durfee, colliding against him, said “Ow!” loudly, and was told to keep still. They paused and listened.
“Did you hear anything?” whispered Dan.
“Thought I did. I wish that moon would go home.”
“Come on,” muttered Tom, “and keep in close to the bushes.”
They went forward again, refraining from conversation now, and walking as softly as they could. The corner of the grounds lay only a hundred feet or so away, when, suddenly, from the shadow of a tall bush directly in their path, stepped a man.
“Here, what you doin’?” asked a deep and angry voice.
For an instant panic rooted them where they stood. Then Alf whispered hoarsely “Scatter!” and eight forms sprang away in almost as many directions. Most of the fellows made for the fence, crashing through the shrubbery at various points, but Alf and Durfee dashed straight past the gardener, who, having left the comfort of his bed in some haste, was only partly dressed, and eluded him easily. Of the number only Gerald made a wrong move, for which inexperience in the matter of midnight adventures with irate caretakers was to blame.