[CHAPTER XIX]
BLACK PAINT
As Bob had pointed out, it was Saturday night, and even in Hillsport most of the merchants kept their shops open. As it was considered unwise to ask the location of a hardware store, the quartette was some time finding one. But success rewarded their efforts presently and, lest numbers create suspicion, Bob was delegated to do the purchasing alone. Cal emptied his pocket of all it contained except sufficient to pay his fare back to Alton and Bob pulled his cap down and entered the store. In a very few minutes he emerged, a paper-covered package under one arm, and strolled casually along the street to a dimly lighted corner where the others awaited him.
“Get it?” whispered Martin.
“Sure! Also and likewise a brush.” Bob pulled the latter article from a trousers pocket and waved it triumphantly. “Here’s the change,” he added.
Cal held the few coins that dropped into his palm to the uncertain light of a distant street lamp. “Huh, there isn’t much of it,” he said.
“Paint’s high, owing to—to—I forget what,” answered Bob cheerfully. “But the brush was only thirty cents. That was cheap, eh?”
“It must be a wonder!” commented Cal. “Bet you the bristles all come out before we get through with it.”
“We ought to soak it in water first,” said Bob, “but I guess there isn’t time.”
“You’re a swell little guesser,” answered Martin. “Which way do we go?”