BLACK PAINT
As Bob had pointed out, it was Saturday night, and even in Hillsport
most of the merchants kept their shops open. As it was considered
unwise to ask the location of a hardware store, the quartette was some
time finding one. But success rewarded their efforts presently and,
lest numbers create suspicion, Bob was delegated to do the purchasing
alone. Cal emptied his pocket of all it contained except sufficient to
pay his fare back to Alton and Bob pulled his cap down and entered the
store. In a very few minutes he emerged, a paper-covered package under
one arm, and strolled casually along the street to a dimly lighted
corner where the others awaited him.
“Get it?” whispered Martin.
“Sure! Also and likewise a brush.” Bob pulled the latter article from
a trousers pocket and waved it triumphantly. “Here’s the change,” he
added.
Cal held the few coins that dropped into his palm to the uncertain
light of a distant street lamp. “Huh, there isn’t much of it,” he said.
“Paint’s high, owing to--to--I forget what,” answered Bob cheerfully.
“But the brush was only thirty cents. That was cheap, eh?”
“It must be a wonder!” commented Cal. “Bet you the bristles all come
out before we get through with it.”
“We ought to soak it in water first,” said Bob, “but I guess there
isn’t time.”
“You’re a swell little guesser,” answered Martin. “Which way do we go?”
“Back the way we came,” said Cal. “The nearer the school, the better, I
say.”
“That’s right. I wonder should we stir this stuff up.” Bob tore off the
disguising paper and revealed a quart can. “Guess we’ll have to. Let’s
get the cover off and find a stick or something.”
Getting the cover off was not difficult, Cal prying it up with his
locker key, but finding a piece of wood with which to stir was more
of a problem. They searched and poked around in the gloom of the back
street without success until Martin found a broken fence picket and
pulled off a nice long splinter. Then, in the added darkness of a
tree, they put the can on the sidewalk and proceeded to mix the
ingredients thoroughly. Once a passer on the other side caused them to
straighten up and assume casual attitudes, but for the rest they were
undisturbed. Even on the business thoroughfares Hillsport was not a
crowded town tonight. Presently they set off, Bob bearing the paint
and Cal the brush, keeping to the darker streets until the center of
the town was left behind. Then they crossed to the residence avenue by
which they had returned from the school and began to look for blank
walls or fences appropriate to their purpose.
After some five blocks had been traveled Bob voiced disparagement.
“This is a punk town for decorating,” he said. “Nothing but iron and
picket fences.”
“What’s that over there?” asked Martin, pointing. It proved, when they
had crossed the street, to be the clapboarded side of a stable or
garage set some three feet back from the fence. Bob gloated fiendishly
and called for the brush. But, although until that instant scarcely
half a dozen persons had been sighted, now the long street suddenly
became densely populated, or so it seemed to the vandals. A man came
out of a house across the way, a boy and a dog appeared from a cross
thoroughfare and two ladies appeared from the direction of the
shopping district. Bob deposited the paint can against the fence and
the boys stood in front of it in negligent attitudes. Cal whistled idly
and unmusically. The boy passed unsuspiciously, but the dog showed
signs of curiosity until Martin lifted him swiftly but mercifully from
the vicinity with a dexterous foot. Then the man, having lighted a
cigar very deliberately, took himself off and the two ladies passed,
casting nervous glances at the quartette, and the street was again
quiet.
Bob dipped brush in paint and reached toward the immaculate whiteness
of the building. Willard looked on dubiously, but forebore to
remonstrate. It was a difficult reach and Bob was grumbling before
he had formed the big A that started the inscription. But, although
the black paint ran down the handle of the brush and incommoded him
vastly, he persevered and in a minute the sign stood forth in the
semi-darkness, huge and startling:
A. A. 14
H. S. 0
One brief instant they tarried to admire, and then they hurried away
from the place. It seemed to them that those big black letters and
numerals were visible for blocks! By common consent they turned the
next corner and dived into the comparative blackness of a side street.
Presently they stopped and exchanged felicitations.
[Illustration: One brief instant they tarried to admire]
“Swell!” chuckled Cal. “Gee, I wish I could see the Hillsport fellows
tomorrow when they catch sight of it!”
“So do I,” said Bob. “Didn’t it show up great? Who’s got a handkerchief
he’s not particular about?”
“Wipe your hands on your trousers,” advised Martin coldly.
“What’s the matter with your own handkerchief?” inquired Cal. “You get
too much paint on your brush, anyway.”
“Well, you can’t be very careful when you’ve got to hurry,” grumbled
Bob. “You can do the next one, seeing you know so blamed much about it!
Gosh, the silly stuff is running up my sleeve!”
“I’ve got an old handkerchief you can have,” said Willard.
“Thanks, Brand. You’re the only gentleman in the bunch. Excepting me,”
added Bob as Martin laughed.
“Where next?” asked Cal while Bob wiped his hand.
“Let’s paint a good one somewhere near the school,” Martin suggested.
“Seems to me there was a brick wall across from where we were waiting
for the car that would be just the ticket.”
“Lead me to it,” begged Cal. “This is my turn.”
They got back to the main street a block farther on and a few minutes’
walk brought them in sight of the main entrance to the school. “We
don’t want to stay around too long,” said Willard. “It’s nearly eight
o’clock now.”
“Guess we’ll have to do one more and call it a day,” replied Bob. “I
never saw such a punk town for--for decorative purposes!”
Three Hillsport fellows, returning to school, overtook them as
they neared the entrance and, as it seemed, viewed them very, very
suspiciously. But the four kept their heads down, and Cal, now carrying
the pot of paint, was careful to keep it hidden. The three entered the
school grounds and were lost to sight and the conspirators breathed
more freely. The wide street ended at the campus. A cross street ran
right and left and for a block in each direction the high iron fence
of the school bore it company. From the right the street car line
came, turning in front of the gate. As, however, they had seen but one
car since they had started forth on their expedition, interruption
from that source seemed unlikely. The brick wall of which Martin had
spoken could not have been placed more advantageously. It surrounded
the small premises of a residence on the left-hand corner, and, as Bob
triumphantly pointed out, a sign painted there would be the first thing
seen by anyone coming through the school gate.
“That’s all right,” returned Cal dubiously, “but it’s awfully light
here.” And so it was, for just inside the gate an electric arc lamp
shed its blue radiance afar.
“I’ll stand at the gate,” volunteered Bob, “and Mart and Brand can
watch the streets. If anyone comes we’ll whistle.”
“What about the folks in the house?” Cal’s enthusiasm was rapidly
waning. The residence was brightly lighted and the strains of a piano
came forth.
“They can’t see through the wall, you lunkhead,” answered Bob, “and if
anyone comes out we’ll see ’em and let you know. All you need to do
then is set the paint pot down and just walk away, careless-like.”
“We-ell, but you fellows watch,” said Cal resignedly.
Bob posted himself across the street at the entrance and Martin and
Willard took up positions from where they could see anyone approaching
on either street. Then Cal set to work. Painting on the rough surface
of a brick wall is not so simple as painting on wood, and Cal made
slow progress. Now and then the others heard disgusted murmurs from
where, a darker form against the shadows, he stooped at his task.
Several minutes passed, and Willard, concerned with the fact that train
time was approaching, grew nervous; which, perhaps, accounted for a
momentary lapse from watchfulness. At all events, the approaching
pedestrian, coming along on the school side of the cross street, was
scarcely a dozen yards distant when Willard saw him. The latter’s
warning might, it seemed, have been heard a mile away.
“Beat it!” yelled Willard.
Afterwards he explained that shouting was quicker than whistling, and
that if he had taken time to pucker his lips they would never have got
away without being seen.
They came together a block down the main thoroughfare, breathless and
hilarious. “He--he went in the gate,” panted Bob. “I saw him. Looked
like one of the faculty, too. Gee, it was a lucky thing he didn’t catch
us! D-did you get it done, Cal?”
“Just! I was going over the naught a second time when I heard Brand
yell. I had the paint can in one hand and the brush in the other and I
just heaved ’em both over the wall and ran!”
“I’ll bet it looks great,” chuckled Martin.
“I know it does,” answered Cal proudly. “I made the letters and figures
as big as that.” He held his hands nearly a yard apart. “It took most
of the paint, too. Brick’s awfully hard to work on. What did you do
with Brand’s handkerchief, Bob?”
“Gave it back,” said Bob.
“No, you didn’t,” denied Willard.
“Didn’t I? I thought I did. Meant to, anyway. Must have dropped it
somewhere, then. Wipe your hands on your own hanky. That’s what you
told me to do!”
“I will like fun,” muttered Cal. “I’ll bet the stuff is all over me,
hang it!”
“You can wash up at the station,” said Martin. “Who knows when the cars
run over to Darlington?”
An uneasy silence followed. Then Bob said: “What about it, Cal? You
asked, didn’t you?”
“I asked when the trains went,” replied Cal. “I--I suppose the cars go
every ten minutes or so, don’t they?”
“What time is it now?” asked Martin bruskly.
“Five to eight,” answered Willard.
With one accord the four broke into a trot. “If we miss that train
we’re dished!” said Bob. “Seems to me you’d find out something, Cal,
while you were at it! What time does the train go?”
“Eight-thirty-eight,” replied Cal. “You didn’t ask me to find out about
the trolley. I thought you knew about it. How was I to know--”
“Save your breath for running,” advised Bob coldly. “If we can’t get a
trolley we’ll have to foot it.”
“Gee, we’ll never do it in thirty minutes!” exclaimed Martin.
“We’ll have to,” said Bob grimly, “if we can’t get a car. If we’re not
back at school by ten we’ll get fits. And then, if the faculty over
here makes a fuss about those signs, why, we’ll be nabbed!”
“I told you it was too risky,” mourned Martin.
“Well, you took a hand in it, didn’t you?” asked Bob shortly. “Shut up
and get a move on! Isn’t that the square ahead there?”
It was, and when, very much out of breath, the quartette reached it, a
car obligingly swung around a corner and paused in front of a waiting
station a block away. “Come on!” yelled Cal. “That’s ours!”
Of course, having reached it and staggered breathlessly inside, they
had to sit there for quite ten minutes before the car resumed its
journey. But they were too grateful to mind that, and, although Willard
looked at his watch frequently and anxiously, the conductor assured
them that, if they didn’t burn out a fuse or run off the track or if
the power didn’t give out, they would reach the Darlington station
eight minutes before train time. Bob advised Cal to keep his hands
out of sight and Cal hung them down between his knees all the way.
The conductor’s prediction proved correct, and, as there were no
misadventures on the journey, Cal was able to eradicate most of the
paint from his hands before the train arrived. To his disgust, however,
he discovered that his coat and trousers were liberally specked with
black, and when Bob told him cheerfully that the paint wouldn’t be
very noticeable on mixed goods he became quite angry. In the end they
reached the Academy well before ten o’clock and unobtrusively sought
their rooms, everyone very weary and, if the truth must be told, rather
short-tempered by now.