“Hadn’t noticed it,” replied Cap. “What with baseball practice, and digging and boning and lectures and writing home occasionally for money we manage to exist; eh fellows?” “Sure!” chorused his brothers. “Well, I say it’s dull,” went on Chapin. “Now you fellows used to cut up some, when you first came, but you’d think you had all reformed the way you’ve been keeping quiet lately.” “There’s nothing to do,” complained Bill, in whom the spirit of mischief burned more strongly than in his brothers. “Show us a good lively time and we’ll be in on it.” “I can’t show it to you,” replied Chapin. “You’ve got to make it for yourselves.” “Well, I’ll do my share,” went on Bill eagerly. “Why, is there something up?” “Now, Bill, you haven’t any time to undertake any pranks you know,” admonished Cap, but his voice was not at all commanding, and there was a gleam of interest in his eyes. “Yes, cut out the funny business,” added Bill. “But what is it, anyhow, Bob? No harm in telling; is there?” “Sure not. I was just wishing a racket would break loose, and I happened to think of something a while ago. It would take some nerve to do it though, and maybe you fellows—” He paused significantly—temptingly. “Say, who says we haven’t got the nerve?” demanded Bill quickly. “Now, Bill go easy,” advised his older brother, but he, too, looked interested. “Oh, well, certainly you have the nerve,” admitted Chapin. “But it’s risky.” “Are you willing to go in on it?” asked Pete quickly. “Of course,” was the instant rejoinder. “Then name your game!” came from Bill, “and you’ll find us right behind you up to the muzzle of the cannon. Out with it!” “Oh, I wish you’d stayed away,” spoke Cap. “I’m back in my trigonometry, and if I flunk—Well, I suppose we may as well hear what you’ve got up your sleeve,” and he laid aside his book, with a laugh and a half-protesting shake of his head. Bob’s first act was to go over to the door of Cap’s room, in which the gathering took place, and see that the portal was tightly closed. Then he listened at the keyhole. “Is it perfectly safe?” he asked in a whisper. “Can anyone hear us?” “Say, what are we up against?” asked Cap with a laugh. “Is this a gunpowder plot, or merely a scheme to burn the old school.” “Listen, and I will a tale unfold,” went on Chapin. “Gather ’round, my children, gather ’round the camp-fire and Anthony shall tell us one of his famous stories. So they gathered ’round—” “Oh, get along with it—we’ve got to do some boning to-night, Bob,” complained Pete. “We’ve heard that camp-fire joke before.” “Do you know the bronze statue of ‘Pop’ Weston in front of the school?” asked the visitor in a stage whisper. “Do we know it? The statue of the founder of Westfield? Well I should bust a bat but we do,” answered Bill. “What do you think of the color of it?” asked Chapin. “What do you mean?” Cap wanted to know. “I mean wouldn’t it look prettier red or blue or pink, than the shade it is now?”