Poke didn’t let him finish the sentence. “Ever smell burning feathers? Well, I guess you have, all right! And don’t you think that if we tie a pail to his collar, and there are some burning feathers in the pail, Mr. Dog’ll get enough of chickens to last him a lifetime?” Step was a generous fellow; he didn’t grudge a friend a triumph. “Gee, Poke, but you’re a corker! How’d you ever work that out? But I say! I can improve on the pail. Up in our attic’s one of those queer, old-fashioned lanterns with tin sides punched full of holes--like a colander, you know. And there’s a double chain to it--guess they used to hang it up outdoors. And there are snaps on the chain--might have been made for us. Only”--he paused an instant--“only how’re you going to be sure the stuff will burn?” Poke smiled the smile of easy confidence. “Don’t you worry! A few rags soaked in kerosene, and stuffed in with the feathers will take care of that, all right!” From this discussion and activities which followed, it happened that when Sam turned a corner near Mr. Mercer’s gate he came upon his two chums engaged in friendly overtures to a large and somewhat suspicious dog. Poke, as he saw, had a tempting bit of meat, while Step held behind him a rusty contrivance of tin, from which loops of still more rusty chain depended. “Halloo! What’s up?” Sam demanded curiously. “Oh, first class in dog manners--that’s all,” responded Step lightly. Poke whistled softly, and held the meat nearer the dog, which took a step forward, halted, eyed the tidbit greedily. Sam, far from clear as to what was afoot and inclined to caution not only by his new resolves but also by acquaintance with other ventures of his friends, watched the proceedings dubiously. “I don’t yet grasp what’s the game,” he remarked. Poke was lavishing blandishments upon the dog, and extending the bait; so it was left to Step to make explanation. “It’s that chicken business. We’re going to get even--teach him a lesson, I mean.... Got a scheme, a crackerjack scheme. Just you keep your eyes peeled.” “They’re peeled, all right, but----” Sam hesitated an instant. “I say, you fellows, better not get in trouble. Remember, you belong to the Safety First Club!” “Huh! No chance of trouble--for us!” Step insisted. “Look here, Sam!” He displayed part of the chain with a snap at the end. “Two just like this--see? Well, we’re going to pass one of ’em around the dog’s neck, so-fashion.” In illustration he wound the chain about his own left wrist and for good measure took an extra turn. “Then we fasten it.” Another illustration, the rusty spring of the catch being moved with some difficulty. “Then, having fixed it so he can’t get rid of it, we----” There Step broke off, for good and sufficient reason. For things were beginning to happen, and the procession of events was moving with startling speed.