“What is, Pep?” inquired Frank.
“Look for yourself.”
“Oh, say! who did that?” shouted Randy.
He and the others stood staring in dismay at the walk, that was littered with glass, and then at the wreck of the electric sign overhead, which had cost them so much money and of which they had been so proud.
All that was left of it was “W—O—L—A—N—D” and woeful, indeed, the dilapidated sign looked. Broken bulbs and jagged ends of wires trailed over its face. Two bricks lay at the edge of the walk and the end of a third protruded from the bottom of the sign.
Randy was nearly crying. Frank looked pretty serious. Pep’s eyes were flashing, but he maintained a grim silence as he went over to the edge of the walk and picked up one of the bricks.
“That was your ‘great guns’ you heard last night,” observed Pep looking fighting mad. “Those bricks were thrown purposely to smash our sign. Why—and who by?”
There was not one in the group who could not have voiced a justifiable suspicion, yet all were silent.
“I think I know where that brick came from,” proceeded Pep, trying to keep calm, but really boiling over with wrath. “I’m going to find out.”
Pep tarried not to discuss or explain. The others stared after him as he marched down the boardwalk in his headstrong way. Pep had in mind a little heap of bricks he had seen two days before. They were made of terra cotta, red in color and one side glazed.