Martin laughed. “It’s all right if we don’t get nabbed, Brand. I’d like mighty well to see the expressions on the faces of some of these chaps over here tomorrow!” CHAPTER XIX BLACK PAINT As Bob had pointed out, it was Saturday night, and even in Hillsport most of the merchants kept their shops open. As it was considered unwise to ask the location of a hardware store, the quartette was some time finding one. But success rewarded their efforts presently and, lest numbers create suspicion, Bob was delegated to do the purchasing alone. Cal emptied his pocket of all it contained except sufficient to pay his fare back to Alton and Bob pulled his cap down and entered the store. In a very few minutes he emerged, a paper-covered package under one arm, and strolled casually along the street to a dimly lighted corner where the others awaited him. “Get it?” whispered Martin. “Sure! Also and likewise a brush.” Bob pulled the latter article from a trousers pocket and waved it triumphantly. “Here’s the change,” he added. Cal held the few coins that dropped into his palm to the uncertain light of a distant street lamp. “Huh, there isn’t much of it,” he said. “Paint’s high, owing to--to--I forget what,” answered Bob cheerfully. “But the brush was only thirty cents. That was cheap, eh?” “It must be a wonder!” commented Cal. “Bet you the bristles all come out before we get through with it.” “We ought to soak it in water first,” said Bob, “but I guess there isn’t time.” “You’re a swell little guesser,” answered Martin. “Which way do we go?” “Back the way we came,” said Cal. “The nearer the school, the better, I say.” “That’s right. I wonder should we stir this stuff up.” Bob tore off the disguising paper and revealed a quart can. “Guess we’ll have to. Let’s get the cover off and find a stick or something.” Getting the cover off was not difficult, Cal prying it up with his locker key, but finding a piece of wood with which to stir was more of a problem. They searched and poked around in the gloom of the back street without success until Martin found a broken fence picket and pulled off a nice long splinter. Then, in the added darkness of a tree, they put the can on the sidewalk and proceeded to mix the ingredients thoroughly. Once a passer on the other side caused them to straighten up and assume casual attitudes, but for the rest they were undisturbed. Even on the business thoroughfares Hillsport was not a crowded town tonight. Presently they set off, Bob bearing the paint and Cal the brush, keeping to the darker streets until the center of the town was left behind. Then they crossed to the residence avenue by which they had returned from the school and began to look for blank walls or fences appropriate to their purpose. After some five blocks had been traveled Bob voiced disparagement. “This is a punk town for decorating,” he said. “Nothing but iron and picket fences.”