“Joe,” he said, carelessly, “I’ve been thinking about painting this place and I sort of guess that maybe it ought to be green, like you said. You see――――” “Green nothing!” exclaimed the other. “Where do you get that stuff? Red’s the only color. Now look here――――” “I’m thinking maybe red would be too――too bright――――” “Not a bit of it! We’ll want to come here in the winter, and we’ll want it to look――er――cheerful――――” “Yes, but in the summer, green――――” “No, sir, it’s going to be red,” declared Joe heatedly. “Well,” laughed Philip, “I guess there’s no sense having another quarrel about it! We’ll paint it red. Now let’s get the things washed up and put the place neat for the housewarming.” It was Friday afternoon that Philip and Joe met Pete Brooks on Common Street. Joe was for going by with his usual curt nod, but Philip stopped and greeted their quasi enemy affably. “Say, Pete, we’re going to have a sort of shindig out at the camp to-morrow afternoon. About a dozen of us, you know. Going to have supper and hang around awhile in the evening. Glad to have you come if you can.” Pete looked hurriedly up and down the street. “I――I’d sure like to,” he stammered, “but――but I’ve got something I――I’ve got to do to-morrow. Sorry! Much obliged!” He made off quickly and Philip turned a puzzled look on his chum. “Acts almost like he didn’t really want to!” he murmured. Joe thrust his arm through Philip’s again. “I know it,” he agreed innocently. “Wonder why!” CHAPTER V THE VIGILANTES “Hey, Joe! Joe Kenton!” Joe swung dextrously between a big red truck and a light delivery wagon and slowed down at the curb, where, transferring one foot from pedal to sidewalk, he balanced his bicycle beside the boy who had hailed him. “Hello, Sam,” he responded. “What’s it?” Sam Sawyer, a likable-looking boy whose manner, and attire, suggested a leisure not enjoyed by his friend, smiled back. “Just wanted to see you,” he answered. “Have some?” He proffered a bag of peanuts. Joe dipped into it, but he frowned slightly as he did so. “I’ve got to hurry,” he said a trifle importantly. “Where are you going?” Sam glanced at the wire carrier affixed to the front of the bicycle which was piled with bundles. “Temple Street,” replied Joe. “Mrs. Madden’s. She wants these things for supper――I mean dinner.” “I should think she’d order them earlier then,” said Sam. “Say, did you hear about Warren Scott?” Joe shook his head. “No. What’s it?” “‘What’s it!’” mimicked the other. “They got his wheel yesterday.” “Stole it, you mean?” asked Joe interestedly. “Who?” “I don’t know, you idiot. The folks who’ve been stealing all of them, I suppose. He left it in front of Guyers’, and when he came out it was gone.” “What time was it?” asked Joe. “I don’t know. Some time after school. Why?” Joe frowned in a puzzled fashion for a moment. “Isn’t Warren’s bicycle a Malden?” he asked then. “Purple, with white lines?” “Yes.”