“All right,” agreed Ben doubtfully. He was always a bit doubtful, or seemed so, of advice not given by himself. So they all trooped upstairs, all save Sewall Crandall and Harold Cupples, who, being lower middlers and but lately emancipated from the iron heel of upper-classdom held a sneaking sympathy for the mutineers.
“Plucky kids, eh?” whispered Crandall, with a grin.
Cupples agreed, adding, however, “They’re making a lot of trouble for themselves, though.”
Meanwhile the four seniors and the two upper middlers had climbed the stairs. To their surprise none of the mutineers were to be found. Every room was empty. “Try the gym,” suggested Pierce, and the gymnasium was tried without results. Likewise the schoolroom. Then the search was given over. “They’ll have to come back some time,” said Holden. “And then we’ll get ’em.”
One of the places they didn’t look was the parlor. Had they walked in there after reading the proclamation they would not only have found the four missing juniors but would very likely have upset the equilibrium of Mr. James Fairchild, who, against the remonstrances of his fellow conspirators, held his ear to the keyhole.
After the tyrants had stamped upstairs, Bert, who during the momentous period had reclined calmly on the brocaded divan, sat up, thrust his hands into his pockets and frowned thoughtfully. “I guess we made a mistake, fellows,” he said. “We ought to have been upstairs. They’ll think now that we’re afraid of them. And we aren’t.”
“Not a bit!” declared Lanny stoutly, glancing apprehensively at the hall door.
“N-no,” murmured Small nervously.
“So let’s go up now and face them, eh?” Bert said.
Dead silence greeted this suggestion. Lanny whistled softly and seemed to be giving the plan careful consideration. Small became deeply interested in the snow-covered and lamp-lighted drive and Kid, catching Bert’s eye, winked mischievously.