The Putnam Hall Rebellion

“We did,” answered Andy.

“Then they’ll have a fine time drying themselves – if they get hold of the towels I fixed up,” grinned The Imp.

They waited and heard Ritter and his cronies enter the dormitory at the end of the hallway. Then they stole forth, Pepper leading the way.

“Who said Crabtree was coming?” they heard Ritter ask.

“Must have been some friend from another dormitory,” answered Billy Sabine. “Ugh! I’m soaked through!” And he shivered.

“Don’t say a word, I got a crack right in the nose and it’s bleeding,” growled Coulter.

“What, the crack or the nose?” queried Paxton grimly.

“Huh, this ain’t no time to joke! Where is there a towel?”

Towels were handy – Pepper had seen to that – and one after another of those in the dormitory caught up a cloth and began to wipe the water from his face and neck. They were doing this vigorously by a dim light when of a sudden Coulter let out a yell.

“What’s the matter with your face, Paxton?” he asked.

“My face? Nothing, only it’s mighty wet.”

“It’s as blue as indigo!”

“Eh?”

“It’s as blue as indigo and all streaked!”

Nick Paxton ran to a glass and gave a look. But before he could say a word Reff Ritter gave a cry.

“My hands are all blue – and so is my nose!”

“I’m blue too!” ejaculated Billy Sabine. “Oh, what has happened to us?”

“Maybe they had blue paint in those towels,” suggested Coulter. “Gosh, if this ain’t fierce! We look like a lot of painted Indians!”

“So we do!” cried another student. “Wonder if it will wash off?”

Reff Ritter turned up the light and examined a towel closely.

“I see what it is!” he cried. “Somebody has put blueing powder all over the towels. The water has made a regular dye of it!”

“Oh!” came in a groaning chorus.

“Will the – the blueing wash off?” asked Paxton, in a faint voice.

“I don’t think all of it will – it’s too strong,” answered Ritter. “I’ll bet this is some of the Ruddy crowd’s work,” he added bitterly.

Just then a sheet of paper was thrust under the door. Coulter picked it up. A patter of footsteps could be heard in the distance.

“A note,” said Coulter. “I’ll wager it is from those fellows.”

He brought the sheet of paper to the light and read it, the others gazing over his shoulders. On the sheet was written:

“Thank you very much for the starching. We return the compliment by doing the blueing.”

“I told you so!” growled Reff Ritter. “Blueing indeed? If we can’t get this stuff off we won’t want to show ourselves in the classrooms to-morrow!”

“And what about the party at Lakelawn?” groaned Gus Coulter. “Don’t forget that, Reff!”

“If we can’t clean up we’ll have to stay at home. I don’t want to go looking like a bluejay, do you?”

“We’ll have to get square with the Ruddy crowd for this,” said Paxton. “Oh, what a mess!” And he did his best to get the blueing from his face.

“Just wait, that’s all!” answered Reff Ritter, savagely. “I’ll get square if it takes a thousand years!”

CHAPTER IX

WHAT HAPPENED AT THE ICE HOUSE

The next morning Reff Ritter had to excuse himself, and he did not come downstairs all day. Some of the blueing had gotten on his nose and refused to come off. Paxton and Coulter appeared, and they looked “blue” in more ways than one.

“We are going to square up some day!” growled Coulter, when he met Pepper. “Just wait, that’s all!”

“Look out that you don’t burn your fingers doing it,” answered The Imp. “Remember, we can give you as good as you send, every time!”

Coulter and Paxton still had some of the blueing on them and some of the cadets not in the secret wanted to know what was the trouble.

“Oh, we had some blue ink and it got spilled,” answered Paxton, and that was all he and Coulter would say. When Captain Putnam went upstairs to call on Ritter and make sure he was not seriously sick the bully told the same story.

“Well, be careful the next time,” said the master of the Hall, and he left Ritter in deep thought. He felt almost certain some kind of a joke had been played, but he did not wish to investigate, having his hands full with other things. George Strong had departed, having received a special message of importance, and the captain himself had to leave the school the following Monday, to go to Chicago.

In a roundabout way Jack and his chums learned that Reff Ritter, Coulter and Paxton were going to attend the lawn party in spite of the blueing that still showed on their hands and faces, and they at once set to work to see what could be done toward having more fun.

“This is going to be rather a delicate proceeding,” said the young major. “Remember, we have two crowds to deal with – Ritter’s and Roy Bock’s.”

“Perhaps we had better divide our forces?” suggested Dale.

“I’ve got a plan, but I don’t know if it can be carried out,” said Pepper. “To my mind, Ritter and Bock are quite friendly.”

“Yes, it’s a case of one bully loving another,” chimed in Stuffer. “They are thick, and so are Coulter and Gussic and Grimes.”

“Then perhaps I can get this plan to work after all,” went on The Imp, and then he told the others of his scheme. This was nothing more than to send a letter to Bock asking him and his cronies to meet Ritter at a certain ice-house on the lake front, at two o’clock – just an hour before the party was to come off. Another letter was to be sent to Ritter asking him to meet Bock and his crowd at the same place, but a little earlier.

The letters were written without delay and a farm boy of that vicinity was hired to deliver them both at noon on the day the party was to come off. Each letter spoke of “a way to fix Ruddy and his crowd,” and was unsigned.

As Pepper anticipated, Bock and Ritter and their cohorts fell into the trap readily. Each bully was more than anxious to learn of something whereby he might do the young major and his chums injury.

“Ritter is a fine fellow,” said Roy Bock, to his cronies. “He hates Ruddy and those other chaps like poison, too. He must have something great up his sleeve.” And the others agreed this must be so; and all voted to stop at the ice-house on the way to the lawn party.