"Because I was fooled myself," Dick promptly rejoined. "I thought
some rascal was plotting mischief to the store. I wanted to mark
that rascal with a suit of wet clothes, then run down in the street
and collar him with his wet clothes on as a marker. But Dad called
me back, and so I missed you. I heard the crowd after you, however.
Did you get caught, Tom?"

Reade's answer was something of a growl.

"What happened between you and the crowd?" pressed Darrin, scenting
some news from Reade's mysterious, half-sulky manner.

"Never you mind," Tom growled.

"Don't tell us," Dick urged. "We can guess a few things, anyway.
You've a bruised spot over your left cheek bone that looks like
the mark of a punch on the face."

"Go ahead and tell us what happened, Tom," urged Greg.

Reade only scowled.

"Anyway, you must have avenged yourself," Dick smiled. "Just
look at the way the knuckles of your right hand are skinned.
You certainly hit someone hard."

Tom flushed quickly as he glanced at the knuckles in question,
then thrust his right hand into his pocket with an air of indifference.

"Be a good fellow and tell us the finish of the adventure," begged