“Huh?” said Tom in surprise. “I was addressing your namesake,” explained Nelson. The namesake was blundering deeper and deeper into the tiny web, reminding the watchers of a man walking through a series of hotbeds as depicted in a comic paper. Finally, by sheer weight, the beetle came out on the other side with a large part of the web trailing behind him, and a very small spider, looking like the head of a black pin, emerged from her hiding-place and began to run excitedly over the scene of her former habitation. “Don’t blame her,” grunted Tom. “Things are certainly torn up.” The beetle, doubling in his tracks, progressed without further misadventure for almost a foot. Then he stopped, dug his head into the earth, and waved his legs vexatiously. “Oh, he’s plumb crazy!” laughed Nelson. “I guess he dropped something and is looking for it,” said Tom. “Perhaps it’s his watch. Or maybe----” Tom’s further surmises were rudely interrupted. Up the hill floated a most unmelodious shout. Nelson sat up as though he had touched a live wire. “Great Scott!” he exclaimed, “what’s that?” “It’s Joe Carter,” said Tom. “He learned that yell from his brother, who was on the Yale freshman crew.” “It sounds like--like a banshee!” “Never heard one,” said Tom. “Really? I had a tame one once,” answered Nelson, laughing. “You mean _bantam_, I guess. Hello, there he goes again. Maybe he’s calling us.” And Tom lifted up his voice in a weak imitation of Carter’s awful effort. “Oh, you can’t do it, Tommy, my boy. Why, I couldn’t have heard that ten miles!” But Carter wasn’t that far off, and presently, after sending an answering hail, he appeared in the path. “Say, you fellows, Clint wants to see you in the office.” Then he dropped his voice to an awed whisper. “He’s found out about the sign on the cliff,” he added. “Phew!” said Nelson. “Was he mad?” “N-no, I don’t think so, but it’s hard to tell,” Carter replied. “But he looked pretty serious. He’s sent for Bob and Dan, too.” The latter were coming up the hill into the clearing as Nelson and Tom appeared from above. They exchanged sympathetic grins and shakes of the head, and then composed their features and filed into Poplar Hall. Mr. Clinton was at his desk behind the railing. “Bring some chairs over here, boys, and sit down so that I may talk to you. That’s it. Now, how about this blue-paint episode?” His glance encountered four rather sheepish faces, but every eye met his fairly. It was Bob who spoke first. “We all had a hand in it, sir.” “That’s so, sir,” Tom supplemented. And Nelson nodded. Dan alone gave no sign. Mr. Clinton observed the fact and looked surprised. “You didn’t have a hand in it, then Speede?” he asked. Dan’s face suddenly wreathed itself in a broad smile and his blue eyes twinkled. “I was pretty near all in it, Mr. Clint,” he answered. “You see, sir, they emptied the pot of paint over me!” The Chief smiled a little.