know he bought one of those little vestpocket lights down
at Paul Kramer's store only three nights ago, because I saw him
testing them and heard him say he'd take it."
"Yes, that looks significant, I must say, Thad. But I'm trying to
make out what he's done with his head. Don't you notice he's got it
bundled up with a sort of woollen comforter or something like that?"
"Why, so he has," replied the other; "I tell you what, Hugh, he's
hoping to hide his face, so if he's discovered prowling around in
here no one can say positively that they recognized him. Leon is up
to all those sly tricks. He gets ideas like that out of the stories
he's so fond of soaking in."
"Keep still now, Thad, and we'll creep closer," warned the other.
They really had their hands full endeavoring to advance upon the
prowler without making any sort of sound that would arouse his
suspicions. Hugh realized that if anything of this sort occurred the
other would instantly throw the full glow of his little electric torch
in their direction, and, of course, immediately discover their presence.
If such a thing happened it might interfere with their suddenly
arranged plan of campaign, and prevent the capture they contemplated,
which would be a grievous disappointment to both boys.
The unknown party had come to a standstill. He stood there in front
of the long row of new lockers in which the boys who meant to take
part in the principal events of the great athletic tournament kept
their possessions, without which they would be more or less handicapped
in their practice work.
Thad had made another important discovery; indeed, it struck him as
so significant that he could not forbear dragging Hugh down so that
he could place his lips against the other's ear and whisper:
"It's _your_ locker he's trying to open, Hugh, don't you see?"
Hugh, of course, had already noted this circumstance, and felt duly
thrilled, for really it struck him as something more than an accident,
and along the lines of a deep design. Doubtless, his active brain
started to wrestle with the problem as to why any one should wish to
open his locker, since the only things he kept there consisted of his
running jersey and trunks and shoes.
Could it be possible that this was only some small piece of spite-work
engineered by his old and inveterate enemy, Nick Lang, and ordered
carried out by one of the bully's cronies; while Nick himself made
certain to be in good compan
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