think one of their windows broken.

"Did it sound real?" Dave demanded.

"Did it?" inquired Dick. "It fooled me. I thought surely that
our rear store window had been smashed to pieces. The sound is
as natural as any joker could wish. But I haven't told you the
other half of the story."

Thereupon Dick told about the pitcher of water dumped so unerringly
on Tom, and of Reade's flight with the crowd pursuing him.

"I'd like to have been near enough to hear just what Tom said
when the water struck him," laughed Darrin.

"Did the people running after him catch him?" asked Greg.

"I don't believe so," Dick Prescott smiled. "When Tom gets under
way in earnest, his middle name, as you may have observed, is
Double Speed---and then a bit more."

"Who's talking about me?" gruffly demanded Reade, coming up behind
the group. "Dick, you old rascal! That was a mean trick you
played upon me when you hurled that water down on me last night!
But say, didn't it sound just like a three dollar pane of glass
going to pieces?"

"It certainly did," laughed Prescott. "And by the way, Tom, did
the water, when it struck, make you think at all about what you've
read of Niagara Falls?"

"Hang you!" grumbled Tom, shaking a fist. "Why did you pour the
wet stuff on me like that?"

"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,"