“I wonder if they’ll be fired?” spoke Bob Chapin. “I wouldn’t like that.” “Hu! That’s probably what they wanted to happen to us!” cut in Whistle-Breeches. “It’s a case of chicken eat turkey I reckon, and everybody have cranberries.” “They didn’t actually _do_ anything,” went on Bill, as he and his brothers and chums were talking over the affair next morning. “The evidence only pointed to them as if they were _going_ to do it.” “That’s enough for McNibb,” commented Cap. “Great monkey doodles! There goes last bell and I’ve got to look over my Pindar yet. Holy mackerel!” The whole school was buzzing with the news, and it was soon generally known that the Smith boys had neatly turned the tables on the plotters. As for those worthies, the events had followed each other so rapidly that they hardly knew what to think, much less say or do. It was a complete surprise to them, and they dared not utter a word as to what their real intentions had been. As Cap had said, the circumstantial evidence was enough against them. They had been caught, if not exactly with the paint in their possession, at least with it all over them, and the anonymous letter was enough to declare their object, albeit that screed was intended to throw suspicions on others. “Have you anything to say?” the proctor had asked them when he had them in his sanctum. “I—er—I guess not,” answered North, with a glance at his pink-stained clothing. “How about you, Mersfeld?” “I—I don’t know, it was not our intention—Oh, well, I guess I have nothing to say, either,” and the pitcher gave up the attempt. “Very well. You may go. I’ll take your case up with the faculty.” The two lads were in an agony of apprehension lest they be expelled, or suspended for the remainder of the term, but after a faculty meeting, in which Dr. Burton had made a plea for them, it was decided to debar both lads from participation in all athletic or other sports for a month, to stop all evening leave for the same period, and to inflict other punishment in the matter of doing extra classical study. The fact that they had not actually committed any overt act of sacrilege against the statue was in their favor, though, as the proctor said, only the receipt of the anonymous letter prevented it. And how Mersfeld and his crony writhed in agony as they thought of the letter they had themselves written! They guessed that their plot had been laid bare, and they suspected Bob Chapin, who, fearing punishment, spoke to the Smith boys about it. Then, on Cap’s suggestion, and in order that the truth might be known, a statement of how it had all come about was drawn up and sent to the two plotters. “That’s the last time I try any of _your_ tricks,” said Mersfeld bitterly to North. “Get out! Weren’t you as hot for it as I was? Why don’t you think of something yourself then, if you’re so smart?” “I will—next time,” and the two parted not the best of friends.