“I dare yer ter go down ter New Street and--leave us see--I dare yer ter go dare and ring de fire alarm box. _Dare’s a hot one for yer._ All dem fire guys gits is a good run for nartin’. Give ’em somethin’ ter keep ’em from fallin’ asleep. Dare’s a pippin’ fer yer--take it or leave it. Put up or shut up. Baby, dare’s a knockout!” Hervey did not know whether this was a “pippin’” or not. It certainly appealed to him as a knockout. To him it seemed to contain none of the ingredients of meanness. He had a system of moral reasoning quite his own. He would not damage any one’s tire. Breaking a window did not seem so bad. Sending in a false fire-alarm was certainly an inspiration. Nobody’s property would be damaged. There would just be a big rumpus over nothing. He had to confess that it was the kind of a thing to be “dared” to do. It was harmless, yet a thing that most boys would not risk. It seemed a pretty good dare; a sudden inspiration of the stranger’s. “You mean where the new houses are?” Hervey asked. The tough young fellow stood pat upon his inspiration and did not deign to discuss details. “Dare’s a hot tamale fer yer,” was all he said. “There’s fire boxes nearer than that,” said Hervey, flirting with the idea. “Yed hedgin’? Give ’em a good run. Dat’s _some sizzlin’ tamale_!” It did seem a sizzling tamale. “Come ahead,” said Hervey. “Nah, wot’ll _I_ come ahead fer?” said the stranger. His attitude seemed to be that the genius of this enterprise, the originator of the stunt and propounder of the inspired dare, should not go to any trouble in the matter. “If yer pull it, I’ll be wise to it all right,” he said. “Won’t I hear de fire whistle? I’ll be here when de big noise starts; I’ll be hip to it, don’t never worry ’bout me.” That was very true. The striking effect of Hervey’s stunt would be visible and audible throughout the length and breadth of that small town. “I told you I wouldn’t take a dare from anybody, didn’t I?” he said. “It’s up ter you,” said the genius of the big dare. CHAPTER VII GONE The funny part of the whole business is this; that if Hervey had hunted up Bert Alston that night, he might have gone trailing in the woods north of Bridgeboro. He might have hunted for Skinny Grover who had been appointed to hide and baffle his pursuers. _And if he had trailed Skinny Grover he would have been the one to find him._ There is not the slightest doubt of it. And it would have been a stunt. A sizzling tamale, even. But you see no one dared him to do that. As it was, he hastened up Main Street to Van Doran’s Lane and through this till it petered out in the fields down by the river. Beyond these fields was New Street, a straggling tentacle of road which reached away from town in a sweeping curve, skirted the river for half a mile or so, then ended abruptly.