“It’ll make ’em sit up and have gravy on their eggs all right,” added Ned.
Chuckling over the success of their plot, the three chums prepared to go to bed, for it was a little past the hour for lights to be out, and they did not want any suspicion to attach to them.
So sound and healthful was the sleep of Ned, Bob and Jerry that it seemed but a few minutes from the time they crawled into their beds until their alarm clocks rattled in the morning, and they sprang up. For they “cut things pretty fine,” to quote Jerry, and only gave themselves just enough time to jump into their clothes and run for chapel.
As they scudded across the campus, arranging ties on the route, they looked across to the flagpole, where they saw a group of students gathered about, gazing up at the suspended portrait.
The final bell rang, and the students about the pole rushed to chapel.
“Some little trick--that of yours!” exclaimed Tom Bacon, with a laugh.
There was no time for further talk as they had to go to their seats, and there an air of subdued excitement testified to the success of the trick.
The doors were closed, Dr. Cole arose as usual, but the usual announcement, that of an invitation to all present to take part in the morning prayer, was wanting.
“Young gentlemen, I regret to mention to you, what the most of you probably know, that the portrait of our revered founder is not in its usual place,” Dr. Cole said in his deep voice.
“And before we go on with the devotional exercises this morning I will request Hopkins, Baker and Slade to proceed to the flagpole, where they shamelessly hung the portrait, and bring it back!”
There was a gasp of astonishment, and the three chums looked guiltily at one another.
Amid the smiles of their fellow students Jerry, Ned and Bob filed out of chapel.
And when they reached the pole they saw a card tacked on it, just below where the halyards were made fast, and the card read:
Astonishment, surprise, chagrin and anger are some of the words that might be used to describe the feelings of Ned, Bob and Jerry as they looked at the accusing card.
The card was typewritten, so there was no ready clue to its author.
“Which of the fellows have typewriting machines?” asked Ned.