“You don’t s’pose they could have backed out; do you?” “No, Bob Chapin said they were hot for the trick, and rose to it like a hungry trout to a fly. Oh, they’ll be here.” “Then I wish they’d hurry. I’m getting a cramp in my leg, crouching down so long.” “That’s nothing. I know I’ll have rheumatism or housemaid’s knee, or something like it, for sitting on the damp ground. But think of it! They’ll be suspended, and you’ll be back on the nine!” “Yes, that makes it worth while.” “Hark! I think I hear something!” cried North suddenly. They peered out. Two dark figures could be seen coming cautiously around the base of the statue. “That’s them!” whispered Mersfeld. “No, that’s McNibb, and one of the janitors is with him. He’s too early! He’ll scare ’em off!” “Jove! It looks so. I wonder—” “Say! He’s heading this way!” cried North suddenly. “Can he see us?” They waited in an agony of fear and apprehension. There was a movement in the bushes—a curious sloshing, splashing sound, and something seemed to be flowing around the feet of the two plotters. “Great guns!” cried Mersfeld, “what are we up against?” “Keep quiet,” begged North hoarsely. It was too late. “Ha! I have you! Waiting for a chance to despoil the statue; are you?” cried the voice of the proctor. He made a rush for the bushes. Mersfeld and North made a rush to get out. Their feet became entangled in the strings that had been pulled a moment before by the hidden Smith boys. Down in the pink paint went the conspirators, just as the proctor and his impressed aide hurried up and grabbed them. “I have you!” exclaimed the college official. “I have stopped your nefarious work just in time. Strike a match, Biddel.” The janitor obeyed. In the glow stood two sorry-looking figures, pink paint dripping from them. “Mersfeld and North!” ejaculated the proctor. “I would not have believed a member of the Varsity nine capable of such a trick.” “We weren’t going to do it,” began the pitcher, and then the futility of the denial made itself plain to him, as in the dying glow of the match he saw the sight he and his companion presented. “Follow me, gentlemen,” said the proctor simply, leading the way to his quarters. “Caught in their own trap!” whispered Bill softly, as he and his brothers and chums looked over the top of the wall, and saw what had taken place. “Talk about painting the town red,” murmured Cap. “The very _grass_ is _pink_, over there,” and chuckling to themselves our heroes hurried to their rooms lest they, too, be taken in for being out after hours. CHAPTER XXI AN INTERRUPTED SUPPER “Wasn’t it great?” demanded Bill. “All to the lalapalooza!” was Cap’s opinion. “I thought sure McNibb would hear us snickering when we pulled the strings and upset the paint,” added Pete. “And what a sight Mersfeld and North were!” remarked Whistle-Breeches. “They must have looked like walking complexion advertisements when the lights were turned on.”