OUT FOR HALLOWE'EN FUN
"There'll be loads of fun to-night," proclaimed Dan Dalzell, his eyes
sparkling with mischief, as he danced up and down in the schoolyard at
forenoon recess.
"Why?" asked Dick innocently.
"Don't you know what day this is?" Dan insisted.
"Yes; and I also know that to-night will be Hallowe'en."
"Then don't you know that there are going to be several barrels of fun
uncorked in this old burg to-night?"
"I didn't know that barrels were ever 'uncorked,'" replied Dick
judicially.
"Oh, pshaw! This isn't the first class in language!" retorted Dan
disdainfully. "You're going to be out to see the fun, aren't you?"
"I suppose likely I shall be out on the street a little while after
supper," Prescott admitted.
"Hear the young saint!" taunted Dan derisively, appealing to a group of
boys. "No one would ever suppose that Dick Prescott had ever gotten up
any mischief--hey?"
"Oh, Dick will have one or two tricks ready for us to trim our enemies
with to-night," replied Ben Alvord. "Don't worry!"
"Sure! Dick never yet went back on the crowd," declared Wrecker Lane.
"He's got a few good ones ready right now."
"Have you, Dick?" demanded a chorus of eager voices.
"Tell us one or two of the tricks now," pressed "Hoof" Sadby.
But Dick shook his head.
"Come on out with it!" coaxed Spoff Henderson.
"Ain't he the mean one--keeping it all to himself?"
"If Dick has anything hidden in his sleeve," broke in Tom Reade, "he'd
show a lot of sense, wouldn't he, telling it to a lot of you fellows
with loose-jointed tongues? Why, it would be in the evening paper, and
the folks we want to torment would be at their gates waiting for us."
"We won't tell--won't breathe a word! Honest!" came in instant denial.
"I'll tell you just one thing, fellows, if you think you really can keep
it to yourselves," grinned Dick.
"Go ahead!"
"Don't trust these talkative Indians with anything in advance, Dick,"
protested Tom Reade.
"Yes, yes--go ahead!" cried the boys.
"You won't tell, fellows, will you?" Dick fenced.
"Cross our hearts we won't."
"Well, then, fellows, the truth is that you are all on the wrong scent.
I haven't thought up a blessed prank for to-night."
"Aw!" came an unbelieving chorus.
"Let's make him tell. Get hold of him. We'll paddle Dick Prescott until
he'll be glad to tell."
There was a rush, but Dave and Tom got in front of Dick.
"Who wants to try the paddle first?" asked Dave, his fists clenching, as
he faced the mischievous Grammar School boys.
"But I haven't thought of a thing, fellows," protested Prescott.
"Say, I want some of you fellows to help me take off old Pond's gate
to-night," called Toby Ross. "We can take it down and hang it on the
fountain in the square. That'll be a good mile from his house, and old
Pond will be awful mad, because he'll have to tote it all the way back
himself. He's too stingy to hire a teamster to take it back."
"And that's your idea of fun is it?" demanded Dick.
"Sure!" grinned Toby.
"It might be for a seven-year-old, but it sounds pretty stupid for an
eighth grader."
"What do you want me to do, then--set old Pond's house a-fire?" queried
Toby with an injured air.
"We'll have to take down a lot of signs and change 'em," proposed Ned
Allen.
"What do you think of that, Dick?" asked Spoff Henderson.
"That sounds kiddish, too, doesn't it?" objected Dick. "And the trick is
at least three times as old as Gridley."
"We can slip in at the back of George Farmer's place," suggested Wrecker
Lane. "You know, he's always bragging about the fine milk he serves.
Well, if we can get in at the cooling trough in his yard we can empty
half the milk out of each big can and fill it up with water. Then won't
he hear a row from his customers about watered milk?"
That brought a guffaw from some of the youngsters, but Dick shook his
head.
"That's kiddish, too," he remarked.
"Say, what do you call kiddish tricks?" Hoof Sadby wanted to know.
"Why, things that have been done, over and over again, by small boys.
All the tricks you fellows have named have been done by our
grandfathers. That's why I call 'em kiddish. A fellow who can't think up
a new one is only a kid. Use your brains, fellows."
"Well, if you're so all-fired smart, you tell us a new one that has some
ginger in it," growled Wrecker.
"I told you that I hadn't any," retorted Dick. "I admit that I'm dull.
But, if I do play any tricks to-night, they'll have to be just a little
bit new. Boys of our age haven't any business traveling around with
Hallowe'en jokes that are so old that they've voted and worn whiskers
for forty years. It isn't showing proper respect for old age."
"Dick has a few new ones in his tank. Don't you worry about that,"
muttered some of the wise ones. "You just find Dick & Co. on the street
to-night, and stick to 'em, and you'll see plenty of fun happening."
"I'll tell you something else that we fellows are growing a bit too old
for, too, if you want to know," Dick offered presently, for the crowd
still insisted on hanging out close to this usually fertile leader in
fun.
"Fire away," groaned Spoff.
"Well, then, I mean the kind of tricks that destroy people's property.
The fellow that shies a stone through the window of some one he doesn't
like, or who carries off gates, or tramples flower beds is only a cheap
penny pirate."
That was rather daring, for Dick's condemnation had touched rather
closely some forms of mischief that boys always imagine as belonging to
them on Hallowe'en night.
However, the general opinion was against quarreling with Dick. Without
him and his chums on the streets, the Grammar School boys knew that
there wouldn't be as much sport.
"You're trying to think up some good ones, aren't you?" asked Dave, as
he and Dick were about to part on the homeward way at noon.
"Yes, of course; but I hope you other fellows have brains that are
working faster than mine is to-day."
"Oh, you'll have something ready by to-night," laughed Dave.
"I hope so."
That afternoon the boys and girls in Old Dut's room did not appear to
have their minds very much on their lessons. A man of Old Dut's
experience knew why.
"I'll stay at home and sit tight on my place to-night," murmured the
principal to himself. "Like as not I'm slated to be one of the biggest
Hallowe'en victims."
When Dick reached Main Street that evening he found himself instantly
the center of a crowd of at least twenty boys from the Central Grammar.
"What'll we do, Dick?" came the hail.
"Anything you like," agreed Prescott.
"But what have you thought up?"
"Nothing."
"Cut that!"
"Honest, fellows, I haven't."
"Never mind," sang out Dave. "We fellows will just roam around town for
a while and see what is happening. Something will pop into our minds,
and then we can have a bit of mischief."
"Hullo!" muttered Toby. "Say! Just look at Hoof!"
"Whatcher got there, Hoof?" demanded a laughing chorus.
For Hoof Sadby, looking more sheepish than ever before in his life, had
appeared on the scene carrying a baby. It was a real, live one, too--his
year-and-a-half-old brother, to be exact.
"Say, don't guy me too much, fellows," begged Hoof sadly. "I'm in a
pickle, sure. Pop and mother are going to a sociable to-night. That is,
they've already gone. And they said----" Hoof paused. "They said----" he
tried again. Then, in final desperation he shot it out quickly. "They
said I'd have to stay home, and--mind the baby!"
"Isn't that a shame?" came a sympathetic chorus, but a few of the
fellows laughed.
"It's a boy, any way," argued Hoof, rather brokenly, "and a smart little
fellow, too. Now, if he's going to grow up right as a boy the kid ought
to start in early. So I've wrapped him up warm and have brought him out
with me."
"What are you going to do with him, Hoof?"
"I'm going to tote the little fellow around to see the fun--if you
fellows can stand having me with you," announced Hoof sadly, rather
pleadingly.
"Why, of course you can come, can't he, fellows?" appealed Dick.
"If you're sure that the youngster won't catch cold," agreed Tom Reade.
"A baby is a human being, you know, and has some rights of his own."
"Oh, I won't let the little shaver catch cold," promised Hoof. "See how
warmly I've got him wrapped up."
As some of the fellows crowded about their encumbered mate, baby laughed
and tried to reach them.
"He's a good fellow, if he is young," spoke up Greg. "Bring him along,
Hoof."
So that was settled, and the crowd turned down one of the side streets.
These darker thoroughfares, as all knew by experience, were safer for
Hallowe'en pranks. The dark places were the easiest ones in which to
escape when pursuit offered.
Nor had the Grammar School crowd been strolling along more than
two minutes when Dick suddenly halted them by holding up one hand.
"What is it?" whispered several, mysteriously, as they crowded about the
leader.
"There's Mose Waterman's house, and it's all dark there," murmured Dick.
"And it's the same over at Mr. Gordon's. Now, you know, Waterman and
Gordon have never spoken to each other since they had that law suit."
"Yes, yes!"
"Well, the warm weather lately has led Mose Waterman to leave his porch
chairs out later'n usual. Now, fellows, suppose we lift the chairs from
Waterman's porch and put 'em over on Gordon's porch. That wouldn't be
far for Waterman to go after 'em, but do you think he'd do it? Never! He
will growl, and swear that Gordon stole the chairs. And Mr. Gordon is
too angry with Mose Waterman to take the chairs back. So it'll give us
fun for a fortnight strolling by in the day time and noticing whether
Waterman has his chairs back."
"Wow!" "Whoop!" "And you said, Dick"--reproachfully--"that you couldn't
think up anything!"
Half a dozen figures moved swiftly and stealthily. In a twinkling the
transfer of porch chairs from Waterman's house to Gordon's had been
made. The young mischief-makers passed on, looking for more nonsense.
But that joke became almost classic in Gridley. For days and days after
that Waterman and Gordon glared at each other from their front windows,
or whenever they met on the street. But neither would touch the chairs,
and neighbors grinned every time they passed and saw the chairs still on
the Gordon porch. One night, in November, however, Gordon took the
chairs as far as the middle of the road. An hour later Mose Waterman
slipped out from his unlighted house and carried the chairs back and
into his own house. The neighbors had had their hearty laughs, however.
"Say, I'll bet that's the best thing done to-night," chuckled Toby Ross,
as the "gang" pressed on to new scenes and new laughs.
But it wasn't quite the best thing done that night as later events
showed.