Kendall awoke the next morning possessed by a pleasant feeling of well-being for which he could not, during the first few moments, account. Then recollection of the events of the preceding night came and he smiled broadly and mentally patted himself on the back. He jumped out of bed and dressed himself briskly, thinking that the world was a very good place to be in. Harold, who was usually out of sorts in the early morning, was visibly annoyed at Kendall’s high spirits. “Cut out that whistling, will you?” he begged between yawns. “You give me a headache, you do; always whistling; making a noise—” The words died away in a growl as he patted the cold sponge gingerly over his face. Kendall laughed.
“I guess you don’t like music,” he said.
“Music!” exclaimed the other with awful irony.
“Yes, that’s what the little birdies do in the[81] morning, whistle. I’m playing I’m a little birdie.”
“You’re playing the silly fool,” growled Harold. “Whistling isn’t music. Besides, there isn’t any tune to what you whistle!”
“I was—what do you call it?—improvising,” replied Kendall. “All great musicians do it.”
“Well, do it outdoors then. I want peace in my own room.”
“All right,” agreed Kendall good-naturedly. “I’m off. You’d better hurry or you’ll be late for chapel.”
“Don’t care if I am,” answered Harold defiantly. But he dropped the towel and made a rush for his clothes as Kendall closed the door behind him.
When Kendall reached the front of Whitson he observed a little group of fellows at the flagpole. He hurried across to it. On the grass, overturned, lay the paint can, with two brushes, sticky with green paint, balanced on top. The brushes had been found on the grass nearby. A glance at the pole told Kendall that he had not entirely saved it from the enemy after all, for on the farther side two big streaks of bright green marred the whiteness. The group was speculating excitedly. Kendall listened:
[82]
“Must have been done early last night. The paint’s almost dry.”
“Some Third Class gang, of course. Green’s their color.”
“They ought to get their heads bumped together,” said an older boy. “Faculty’ll have something to say when they see it.”
There was an uneasy silence at that, and one or two of the smaller boys edged away. But others joined the group and the theories kept coming:
“Wonder why they didn’t finish it. Must have been scared away, what?”
“Of course! Look at the paint pot. And Decker found one brush ten feet away. They probably heard something and ran.” The speaker lowered his voice. “Know anything about it?”
Then the chapel bell stopped ringing and the fellows made a rush for the entrance.
Kendall smiled to himself as he followed. He could tell them something that would surprise them if he wanted to. Of course he would have to tell someone or else he would get no credit for his act; and it is only human nature to want credit for our good deeds. The best way, he guessed, would be to just sort of mention it carelessly to someone. When one fellow knew, it[83] wouldn’t take long for the story to get about. And after that—well, at least they’d know who he was!
But presently, when Mr. Collins reached the announcements for the day, Kendall was reminded that life was not all roses.
“I will see the following students at the Office at twelve,” said Mr. Collins. Then came a half-dozen names, and the last of all was Burtis!
Kendall left Oxford wondering what sort of punishment was to be meted out to him. It seemed a very small crime, leaving the dormitory after ten o’clock, and Kendall comforted himself with the conclusion that the Assistant Principal would only give him a talking to. But now and then during the forenoon the recollection of the coming interview caused a qualm.
Meanwhile the school had worked itself into quite an excited frame of mind over the green paint episode. Older fellows recalled the time when, a couple of years ago, the front of Dudley had been discovered decorated one morning with a legend in blue paint. But the boy who had performed that startling feat could not be connected with the present adventure for he had removed himself from Yardley a short while after. Younger boys whispered of a mysterious secret society and hinted that they had suspected its[84] existence for some time. By noon the Third Class had been made defendant. They might deny it as much as they pleased, declared the other classes, but anyone could see that it was their work. And, added some of the First Class oracles, the sooner they discovered the culprits and made an example of them the better for the reputation of the Third Class. All of which added to the rapidly growing excitement. Of course the Third Class denied to a man all knowledge of the affair. Well, perhaps not to a man, since Kendall didn’t put in any denial, the principal reason for which was that no one thought of accusing him.
By the time breakfast was over the paint can and brushes had disappeared and the janitor was busily at work removing the offending stains. It was rumored that Mr. Collins himself had taken the paint can, but when questioned the janitor only grunted. It was also rumored that faculty was enormously incensed over the affair and had summoned a special meeting that evening to consider what steps to take to discover the miscreants, and that there was the dickens to pay generally! Meanwhile the school waited with bated breath and enjoyed the sensation hugely.
At twelve o’clock Kendall made his way down the long corridor of Oxford and pushed open the[85] ground-glass portal marked “Office.” There were two boys ahead of him in the outer room and Kendall sank into a chair to wait. The school secretary glanced up across the top of his desk, fixed Kendall speculatively for an instant and went back to his work. The door of the inner office opened, Mr. Collins appeared, looked over the callers, said “Watkins, please,” and disappeared again, one of the boys at his heels. There was a solemnity about the proceeding that Kendall found a trifle depressing. Five minutes later the same thing was repeated and the second youth disappeared behind that forbidding portal. Meanwhile three other boys had arrived and seated themselves about the room. Then it was Kendall’s turn at last and he followed the Assistant Principal across the threshold.
“Take a seat, please, Burtis,” said Mr. Collins, closing the door. Kendall sat down in a chair at the end of the broad, flat-topped mahogany desk and Mr. Collins lowered a shade by a few inches at one of the windows and took his own chair. Then he looked at Kendall for a moment in silence. Finally,
“Well, Burtis, suppose you tell me all about it,” he said in a kindly tone. “That will save a lot of questions.”
“Why, sir,” replied Kendall, “there—there[86] isn’t anything much to tell, sir. I didn’t think about the rule, sir. I don’t mean that I didn’t know it, only—”
Mr. Collins frowned.
“Never mind about that part of it, Burtis. What induced you to do such a silly, childish thing, my boy?”
“Do—do what, Mr. Collins?”
“Come, come now! Don’t beat about the bush, Burtis.”
“I don’t understand what you mean, sir,” replied Kendall bewilderedly. “If you mean why did I go out after lock-up—”
“I mean,” said Mr. Collins shortly, drumming with his finger-tips on the top of the desk, “I mean why did you daub the flagpole with green paint? What was your idea in doing such an idiotic thing?”
Kendall stared in amazement.
“Why—why—”
“Well? Come now, tell me all about it.”
“But I didn’t! You don’t understand, sir! I didn’t have anything to do with that, Mr. Collins. It was the oth—”
He stopped abruptly. Mr. Collins shook his head impatiently:
“You mean that you didn’t actually do any of the painting? Does that matter? You had a[87] hand in the affair, Burtis. Who was with you?”
“No one, sir,” answered Kendall, still bewildered.
“That means you refuse to tell their names. Do you mind telling me whether the thing was intended as a Hallowe’en joke or as a mere piece of vandalism?”
“Why, sir, I think it was meant as a joke! But I didn’t know it was Hallowe’en. They said—”
“Who said?” asked Mr. Collins sharply. Kendall was silent.
“Come, come, Burtis, don’t be silly. Make a frank confession and it will be easier for you.”
“I’d rather not say who they were, if you please, sir. But I know they intended it as a sort of joke on the school. I tried to stop them, and I did, but I was too late—”
“So you were on the side of law and order, were you?” asked Mr. Collins ironically. “Very fine of you, Burtis. Then you don’t deny that you were present at the time?”
“N-no, sir; that is, I was—was nearby.”
“Who did that electric torch you had belong to?”
“My roommate, Harold Towne.”
“Hm. Where was Towne at the time?”
[88]
“In bed, sir.”
“You’re certain of that?”
“Yes, sir. I waited until he was asleep before I went out.”
“Were the others there when you arrived?”
“No, sir.”
“You had to wait for them? How long?”
“I—I don’t know exactly; about twenty minutes, I guess.”
“Where did you wait?”
“On the steps of Oxford, sir.”
“I see. You had the paint with you then?”
“No, sir! I didn’t have anything to do with the paint. You—you don’t understand, Mr. Collins!”
“I’m trying to, my boy, but you won’t help me. You acknowledge that you took part in the affair—”
“No, sir, really! I had nothing to do with it. I went out to try and stop them.”
“That’s rather a hard pill to swallow, Burtis. How did you know that ‘they’ were going to do it?”
“I overheard them talking about it in the afternoon, si............