“How were we to know?” demanded Martin. “Why doesn’t he live inside where he ought to? Say, we managed to pick a couple of fine spots, didn’t we? It was a clever idea to paint up the side of the Chief of Police’s barn! Oh, we were a grand little bunch of nuts!” And Martin laughed mirthlessly.
“Yes,” agreed Willard, “we surely managed to do things up brown while we were doing!”
“Didn’t you tell ‘Mac’ that you didn’t have anything to do with it?”
“That would have been a fine song-and-dance!” jeered Willard. “What if I didn’t do any of the actual painting? I went along, didn’t I? Besides, there was my handkerchief, all stuck up with black paint. He didn’t waste any time asking me whether I’d done it. All he wanted to know was who the others were.”
“You might as well have told him,” said Martin gloomily. “He’ll find out quick enough.”
“I don’t think so,” answered Willard. “No one saw us come back, and short of taking the whole school over there and letting the restaurant folks pick you fellows out, I don’t see how they’re going to tell.”
Martin brightened. Then his face fell again. “We’ll have to fess up, Brand. It wouldn’t be fair to let you stand the whole racket.”
“That’s a swell idea,” answered the other derisively. “You and Bob off the team would help a lot, wouldn’t it?”
“We-ell—” Martin scowled in concentrated study of the problem. Then: “Look here,” he said, “a fellow’s got to eat, anyway. Let’s go to dinner. Afterwards we’ll find Bob and—”
His remark was interrupted by a knock at the door followed by the entrance of Bob himself, a somewhat troubled looking Bob who, without noticing anything unusual in the looks of the roommates, plunged into speech. “Say, fellows,” he announced, lowering himself into a chair and viewing them frowningly, “I’m not quite easy in my mind about that business the other night.”