“Oh, yes,” he said in response to inquiries, “the game was all right enough. But did you notice that Wickasaw was over there cheering for the Inn?” “I didn’t notice who they cheered for,” answered Bob. “What of it?” “What of it? Lots! Call that sportsmanlike? Huh! You wait, that’s all, my friends. We’ll get even with Wickasaw!” CHAPTER XIV BEGINS A MIDNIGHT ADVENTURE WHICH THREATENS TO END IN DISASTER “I haven’t said anything about it to Bob,” Dan explained. “You see, he’s so kind of--kind of--well, proper, you know.” They were sitting--Dan and Nelson and Tom--on the edge of the landing. Supper was over and camp-fire was still an hour distant. Behind them the hillside was darkening with the mysterious shadows of night. Before them the lake lay like a sheet of purple glass, streaked here and there with pencilings of steely blue. At the end of the lake and at intervals along the farther shore the lights twinkled in windows or at landings. From the direction of Crescent came the _chug--chug--chug_ of the motor-dory returning with the evening mail. Overhead gleamed the white light of the lantern, pale and wan as yet against the sky. Tom beat a tattoo with his feet against the spile beneath. They had come down here because the camp was infested--to use Dan’s language--with kids and visitors, and they wanted to be alone to plot and conspire. But Tom didn’t relish just sitting here and watching the afterglow fade over Bass Island. He yawned. “Seems to me,” he said disgustedly, “we’re a mighty slow lot of conspirators. If some one doesn’t get busy pretty quick and conspire I’ll go back and read that book. There’s more conspiracy in that than you can shake your ears at. When I left off the villain was creeping up the lighthouse stairs in his stocking feet with a knife a foot long in his hand.” “What for?” asked Nelson interestedly. “To kill the hero and the girl he was shipwrecked with, of course!” “Of course there’d have to be a girl in it,” sighed Nelson. “That’s the way they spoil all the good stories nowadays, putting a silly girl into it! Wait till I write a story!” “This girl’s all right,” answered Tom warmly. “Why, she saved the hero’s life; swam with him over half a mile from the wreck to the lighthouse, carried him in her arms to the door, and fell fainting on the threshold!” “Rot! No girl could do that!” “Why couldn’t she? I’ll bet you she could!” “Oh, get out! Swim half a mile and lug a man with her? And then carry him in her arms another half mile----” “It was only a little ways, and----” “She must have been a--an Amazon!” “She wasn’t, she was a Spaniard.” “Maybe she was a Spanish mackerel,” suggested Dan. “They can swim like anything. Now shut up, you chaps, and listen.” “The chief conspirator has the floor,” murmured Tom. “You know those Wickasaw dubs came over here to-day to our ball field and had the cheek to cheer for the Inn, don’t you?” “Sure,” muttered Tom. “Well, they had no business doing it.”