“Nanny, you and Walters can stand guard over him until evening,” directed Clif, “then we’ll stow him under the stage. He won’t be missed without Ferguson tumbles to the racket.”
If Judson Greene had the power of speech he might have said something that would have made Clif rather uneasy. He could think, though, and he did. And his thoughts took this form.
“Clif Faraday, you think you are clever, but you’ll find out there are others on earth. Before ten o’clock you will not only have your show busted up, but you’ll be in disgrace, too!”
CHAPTER XIV. THE MINSTREL SHOW.
All afternoon and until after supper time Clif and the rest continued their preparations for the entertainment which was destined to prove (so they fondly hoped) the crowning triumph in their successful campaign against the higher classes.
The clever young leader and his clever companions had every reason to anticipate success, for had they not beaten the hazing third class at its own game many times?
They had caught the spy (one of their own class, more shame to him) sent out by the enemy, and now he was stretched, bound and gagged, in one corner of the stage with little Nanny doing valiant sentry-go over him.
Clif was tactician enough to send out scouts among the other cadets to ascertain if there were signs of a plot to break up the entertainment, but all he learned was that a number of the upper cadets had secured certain articles of a vegetable nature, also several ancient specimens of hen fruit.