THE PLOTTERS CAUGHT
Professor Clatter swung wide the door, and the figure of the rain-maker
toppled in, rather than walked.
“Quick! Shut it and lock it!” he cried, and he assisted in the
operation. Then he passed beyond the small room in the rear of the
wagon—a room that served as dining hall, living apartment, sitting
room and parlor, and in a few seconds Mr. Somnus could be heard
crawling into one of the bunks.
“If they come for me—you haven’t seen me, of course,” came his voice
in muffled tones, indicating that his head was under the bed clothes.
“Of course not, my dear Tithy,” replied the professor. “And, in fact,
so quick was your passage through, like a half back making a touchdown,
to use a phrase doubtless familiar to my friend Bill Smith—to use that
phrase, I have scarcely seen you. But what is the matter? Why this
haste? There doesn’t seem to be any one following you—at least not at
your heels.”
“Are you sure?” asked the muffled voice.
“Sure, yes, Tithy,” replied the medicine man, after a moment of
listening. “No one is coming. But what in the world is the matter?”
“Oh, it’s an unfortunate mistake I made,” was the answer. “If you’ll
wait a while, to make sure the police and sheriffs officers are not
after me, I’ll come out and explain.”
“I wish you would, Tithy, for Bill and I are much in the dark.”
After a wait of several minutes, during which Bill wondered what in
the world could have caused the rain-maker to flee in such terror,
the individual in question came out of the compartment devoted to the
sleeping bunks.
“Well?” asked the professor.
“Not well—bad,” was the despondent reply. “You see I found the
star-gazing trade poor lately, on account of so many cloudy nights, so,
in order to make a living I ventured to proclaim that I would read the
stars and reveal the future—for a consideration. It was risky, I know,
but I did it, and did it well—for a time.
“All was prosperous and happy, until to-night, just before supper I was
visited by a man who wanted to know whether he would be successful in a
certain undertaking. I consulted my charts and said that he would.”
“What was the undertaking?” asked Bill.
“He was going to collect a long overdue bill from a man who owed him
some money,” went on the astronomer. “I told him to be firm, and he
would succeed.
“A little later he came back, all tattered and torn, with one eye
blackened, his collar a rag, and his clothes covered with dirt. He
entered my wagon without knocking, and presented himself before me.
“‘I was firm!’ he shouted at me, ‘but I did not succeed. This is
what the other man did to me!’ Oh, it was terrible. He accused me of
deceiving him, and he sprang at me, and would doubtless have made me
suffer, but I escaped through the front door, leaving my beloved cat,
Scratch, behind, and I fled here.
“As I ran on I could hear the terrible threats the man uttered against
me, of causing my arrest. Even now I fear—hark! What’s that?”
Mr. Somnus paused in alarm, and seemed about to dart for the bunks
again.
“Nothing—absolutely nothing,” answered the professor, calmly. Mr.
Somnus listened, and seemed satisfied.
“I guess that fellow didn’t mean all he said,” put in Bill.
“Perhaps,” agreed the astronomer, with a sigh. “I certainly hope not.”
“You are not the only one who has troubles,” went on the traveling
medicine man. “Here’s Bill.”
“What troubles has he?” asked Mr. Somnus. “Has he been
predicting—reading the stars?”
“Not exactly,” answered the pitcher. And then Professor Clatter told
about the proposed painting of the statue and his own warning.
“I’m glad you happened in, Tithy,” went on the vendor of the Peerless
Permanent Pain Preventative, “for I’d like your opinion about
this matter. I say it’s a plot to get Bill and his brothers into
trouble, what do you think about it?” He detailed the reasons for his
suspicions, and waited for an answer.
“Well,” began the fugitive, “not speaking by the stars at all, you
understand, and making no promises for which I can be held responsible,
I think you’re right, Theophilus. And I’d advise Bill to look out.”
“But how?” eagerly asked the pitcher. “I’m beginning to agree with you.
How can I catch Mersfeld and North at their little game, for a game I
think it is?”
“Easy enough,” said the professor. “Go on as if you and your brothers
and Whistle-Breeches—Oh, what a classical name—go on as if you
intended to carry out the trick. Take my word for it those fellows
will be hidden somewhere ready to see you caught, and you can turn the
tables on them.
“In some way they will, I feel sure, get word to the college
authorities of what is on foot. Very well, you have but to stay away at
the last moment, and give some sign by which the proctor will be led
to the hiding place of your enemies. Then, by judiciously spilling a
little of the pink paint near their rooms, and secreting a pot of it
near their hiding place, you will have them on the hip, as my friends
the Romans say.”
“Good!” cried Bill, after a moment’s thought, “I’ll do it.”
“Then here is the pink powder,” went on the professor, handing Bill
several packages, “and may luck attend you. Just mix it with water, and
it will do the work. Now, Tithy, I can attend to your case.”
“And I’ll get back to school, and put up a game on North and Mersfeld,”
said Bill.
“We wish we could be there to see,” spoke Mr. Clatter in eager tones.
“Tithy and I would enjoy it, but we have troubles of our own. I’ll be
around this way in about two weeks again, and you can tell me about it.”
“Come to the ball game,” invited Bill. “We’re going to play Sandrim in
a league contest.”
“I will, if I am not in jail,” promised the astronomer solemnly.
Bill hurried back to his brothers and told his story, adding the
professor’s suspicions, warnings and advice.
“The sneaks!” burst out Cap. “Mersfeld and North to put up a game like
that on us.”
“And Chapin to go in with them,” added Pete.
“They ought to be run out of school!” declared Whistle-Breeches.
“Easy,” suggested Bill. “Maybe Bob Chapin didn’t know what he was up
against. We’ll have a talk with him.”
Bob soon proved to the satisfaction of the Smith brothers and Donald
Anderson, that he was not aware of the “double cross” plan of the
deposed Varsity pitcher.
“North and Mersfeld suggested the scheme to me,” Bob admitted, “and
said you fellows would be good ones to do it.”
“And they’re going to play a safety, and hide somewhere to watch us be
nabbed by McNibb; aren’t they?” demanded Cap.
“They’re going to hide some place near the statue,” replied Bob,
“because I heard them saying something about it. But, honest, fellows,
I didn’t know that they were going to squeal. They got me all worked up
and I was interested. I hope you believe me.”
“We do,” Bill assured him. “Now to get even. I guess, in case they make
the split, that they’ll send an anonymous letter to McNibb. How about
it?”
“Naturally,” agreed Cap and Pete.
“Then we’ll add another,” went on Bill, “and in it we’ll disclose the
hiding place of the sneaks. Where did you say it would be, Bob?”
“In the clump of rhododendron bushes in front of the statue.”
“Good! Now the plot thickens, and we’ll have to thicken the pink paint.
Come on, fellows, get busy. First I’ll prepare the second anonymous
letter.”
A few hours later Proctor McNibb was rather surprised to receive a
screed, signed with no name, informing him that a plot existed among a
certain lot of Freshmen, and that the said plot consisted of a plan to
paint the founder’s statue baby-pink.
“If you wish to catch the vandals, be on hand near the statue shortly
after midnight,” the anonymous epistle went on.
Now the proctor was an honorable man, and usually did not pay much
attention to unsigned letters. But here was one he felt that he must
heed. Where it had come from he did not bother his head about.
“Some upper classmen, who have given over such sacrilegious horse-play
may have sent it,” he argued, “or the townsman from whom the paint was
purchased may have been stricken with remorse, or have a fear that
he will be found out. At any rate I’ll catch them red-handed. No,
pink-handed I guess,” and the proctor smiled at his joke.
The official’s surprise may be imagined when, shortly after the receipt
of the first letter, he got another. Our friends had a spy, in the
person of one of the janitors, who did work in that part of the school
where Mr. McNibb had his rooms, and the janitor at once informed Bill
when there were signs of unusual activity in the proctor’s office.
“It’s their letter!” declared Bill. “Now for ours!” and it was sent,
disclosing the information that the would-be painters of the statue
would be hidden in the clump of rhododendron bushes.
Then there was a busy time for our friends. Throwing in his lot with
the Smith boys and Whistle-Breeches, Bob Chapin helped them in the
plot, by pretending to keep Mersfeld and North posted.
“You can hide in the bushes, just as you planned,” said the languid
youth to them.
“And see the fun?” eagerly asked Mersfeld. “Will they be on hand?”
“Oh, they’ll be on hand all right,” said Bob, and there was a grim
smile on his face, which the plotters did not observe.
So anxious were they to be present, and see the Smith boys captured,
that Mersfeld and North left their rooms early. This was the cue for
Bill and his brothers to make their way to the enemies’ apartments,
and, by scattering around a little of the pink mixture, give the idea,
to a casual observer, that the coloring stuff had been prepared there.
In the meanwhile, and before the two lads who had planned to get their
classmates in trouble had gone to their hiding place, several pails
of the pink mixture had been hidden in the clump of bushes. Strings
led from the pails to behind a stone wall, where Bill, his brothers,
together with Whistle-Breeches and Bob, would hide. At the proper
time the strings would be pulled, and the stuff upset. This would be
additional evidence against the two plotters.
“Well, I guess it’s about time for us to go out,” said Cap, as midnight
approached, that hour, having been suggested to Bob by the plotters.
“Go easy, now, for McNibb may have spotters posted.”
“No, I think not,” said Bob. “He’ll depend on catching us at the
statue. Oh, wow! Won’t those fellows be surprised!”
Mersfeld and North were in hiding. They had been waiting for some time.
“Hang it all!” muttered the deposed Varsity pitcher, “why don’t they
come?”
“Oh, they’ll be here all right.”
“You don’t s’pose they could have backed out; do you?”
“No, Bob Chapin said they were hot for the trick, and rose to it like a
hungry trout to a fly. Oh, they’ll be here.”
“Then I wish they’d hurry. I’m getting a cramp in my leg, crouching
down so long.”
“That’s nothing. I know I’ll have rheumatism or housemaid’s knee, or
something like it, for sitting on the damp ground. But think of it!
They’ll be suspended, and you’ll be back on the nine!”
“Yes, that makes it worth while.”
“Hark! I think I hear something!” cried North suddenly.
They peered out. Two dark figures could be seen coming cautiously
around the base of the statue.
“That’s them!” whispered Mersfeld.
“No, that’s McNibb, and one of the janitors is with him. He’s too
early! He’ll scare ’em off!”
“Jove! It looks so. I wonder—”
“Say! He’s heading this way!” cried North suddenly. “Can he see us?”
They waited in an agony of fear and apprehension. There was a movement
in the bushes—a curious sloshing, splashing sound, and something
seemed to be flowing around the feet of the two plotters.
“Great guns!” cried Mersfeld, “what are we up against?”
“Keep quiet,” begged North hoarsely.
It was too late.
“Ha! I have you! Waiting for a chance to despoil the statue; are you?”
cried the voice of the proctor.
He made a rush for the bushes. Mersfeld and North made a rush to get
out. Their feet became entangled in the strings that had been pulled a
moment before by the hidden Smith boys. Down in the pink paint went the
conspirators, just as the proctor and his impressed aide hurried up and
grabbed them.
“I have you!” exclaimed the college official. “I have stopped your
nefarious work just in time. Strike a match, Biddel.”
The janitor obeyed. In the glow stood two sorry-looking figures, pink
paint dripping from them.
“Mersfeld and North!” ejaculated the proctor. “I would not have
believed a member of the Varsity nine capable of such a trick.”
“We weren’t going to do it,” began the pitcher, and then the futility
of the denial made itself plain to him, as in the dying glow of the
match he saw the sight he and his companion presented.
“Follow me, gentlemen,” said the proctor simply, leading the way to his
quarters.
“Caught in their own trap!” whispered Bill softly, as he and his
brothers and chums looked over the top of the wall, and saw what had
taken place.
“Talk about painting the town red,” murmured Cap. “The very _grass_ is
_pink_, over there,” and chuckling to themselves our heroes hurried to
their rooms lest they, too, be taken in for being out after hours.