“For my part,” said another, “I wouldn’t mind a little rough-house with those chaps up there. They think they’re the only thing in the state of Connecticut, the conceited pups!” “What time did Hurd say he’d have the carriage up there?” “Nine-thirty. I told him to stop about a hundred yards this side of the corner and wait until we came; told him he might have to wait an hour.” “We won’t be able to get away until after ten. What’s the use having him come so early?” “So he will be on time. If I’d said ten he’d been there about half-past, probably.” “How long will it take to get to Yardley?” “Three-quarters of an hour, I guess. We’ll leave the carriage at the foot of the hill and sneak up on foot.” “How many brushes did you get, Jim?” “Two,” replied the tall youth. “What’s the matter with four, one for each of us?” “You can slap on the paint if you want to,” was the reply. “I’m not crazy about it. But somebody has got to keep watch. Besides, if more than two of us try to paint the pole we’ll get in each other’s way.” “I think we ought to paint a few B’s around, so they’ll know who did it.” “Yes, that would be a fine scheme!” said another sarcastically. “You must want to get fired from school. They’d raise a row at Yardley and we’d get found out. I don’t half like the idea of that carriage, anyway.” “Pshaw, they aren’t going to tell at the livery stable. Besides, I don’t intend to walk all the way, and you can bet on that!” “You talk like a rabbit,” said a former speaker. “Don’t you suppose they’re going to know who painted their old flagpole even if we don’t sign our name to the job?” “The fellows up there will know, but the faculty won’t be sure it wasn’t some of their own chaps. They have class colors up there, and green’s one of them.” “Green and white; Third Class,” corroborated another. “Wouldn’t it be a peach of a joke if they blamed their own Third Class fellows for it?” “Dandy! Come on and let’s get back.” They arose from their table and sauntered out. Their conversation had been conducted for the most part in low tones and Kendall had missed a word here and there, but more than enough had reached him to give him a very good idea of the plot. What it all meant was beyond him, however. Why those fellows should want to drive at ten o’clock at night all the way to Yardley to paint a flagpole green he couldn’t see. Evidently, though, it was a sort of practical joke on Yardley. It seemed to him a lot of bother for a small result.