For the first mile or so Ned did most of the talking, rattling along unceasingly of every subject under the sun, drawing Dan’s attention to a bit of landscape or a brilliant burst of color between whiles. Infrequently a carriage or motor passed them, but for the most of the way they had the curving road to themselves. At the Old Cider Mill, Dan’s memory turned to the time the spring before when a number of them had gone over to Broadwood late at night and perpetrated an April fool joke on the rival school. He mentioned it to Ned, and Ned said: “Tell me about that lark. I never got the rights of it. You needn’t mention names, you know.” So Dan recounted the adventure and told how he had tried to keep Gerald in ignorance of the project for fear the boy would insist on going. “I didn’t want him to, you see, because I felt sort of responsible to his father.” And how, when they had reached the mill, they had paused to eat some sandwiches they had brought along, and had looked up the road in the moonlight and seen someone coming. “We went inside to wait for him to go by. But he didn’t pass and after a while we peeked out and there he was sitting over there eating up the sandwiches. And when we got out it was Gerald himself! He had found out about it and played ’possum until we had started and then followed us.” “And didn’t the gardener over at Broadwood hear you and chase you off the place?” “He did. And he saw Gerald and recognized him and came over and pointed him out to Collins. We had a merry chase through the shrubbery and over the wall. The gardener chap got mixed up with my foot once when he was chasing Gerald and took a header. I fancy it didn’t improve his temper any.” “I didn’t know anything about it until I got home,” said Ned. “Then my dad passed the morning paper over to me and pointed out the story they had about it. Of course he suspected me of having a hand, but I proved a clean bill of health. It’s funny, Vinton, they never tried to get back at us for that trick.” “They haven’t enough ingenuity,” replied Dan. “Perhaps, though, they’ll think up some scheme by next first of April.” He chuckled. “I’ll never forget the way that strip of white cloth looked in the moonlight up there that night. We planted it square in front of Knowles Hall. It’s a wonder someone didn’t see us.” “What was it you put on the sign? I’ve forgotten.” “Alf Loring got that up, I think. It was: ‘Father, is this a school?’ ‘No, my son, it is Broadwood.’ ‘O you April Fools!’” “That was a hot one,” laughed Ned. “I guess that sunk in! I’ll bet they were snorting mad.” “They were. And poor Gerald had to go on probation for a dickens of a time. So did Thompson, later. I had to explain things to Gerald’s father, which wasn’t much fun.” “What sort is the old man?” Ned asked. “He’s a dandy. And he isn’t really old. You’ve seen him, haven’t you?” “Once when he came up to the school and spoke to us in the hall. I didn’t remember him very well.”