“When you are done, give it back to Ray Wendell,” I said.
After a few moments more of hard pulling we reached our campus, and with a tingling sense of pleasure at the final accomplishment of our plans, hurried the cannons along to their old resting place.
“And now, fellows,” said Edwards, “we must give three cheers before we disperse. Why don’t you take off your masks? Don’t you know that you run unnecessary risks by wearing them?”
Percy Randall and another student were busy at the touch holes of the cannons. Percy looked up.
“Hold on, fellows; the fun hasn’t more than begun,” he cried.
“What do you mean?” asked Ray Wendell in wonderment.
Percy stood up and scratched a match.
“I propose a volley of cheers for our successful campaign,” he cried.
I started to cheer, but I found my voice drowned out in a deafening blare of tin horns which every man drew from his pocket. This was a totally unexpected development, for a horn spree was the last thing I anticipated at that time. Still we were in for it now, and I was disposed to enjoy the fun while it lasted. Before my ears had become accustomed to the hideous twang of the horns another shock occurred.
Percy Randall leaned forward with his match. There was a sharp sputtering for a few seconds, then two vivid, blinding sheets of flame, and the double roar of the two cannons, which at some time during the trip home on the Geraldine had been loaded by Percy’s directions. It was the first time in many years that the voice of the old artillery had been heard, but it seemed as if all the force reserved during that long spell of silence was concentrated in this one blast, for the ground under us fairly shook, while we could hear windows rattling and crashing in every direction.