streets with Ted Slavin and his cronies. Of late
Ted had been getting into unusually bad odor with the town people, and
perhaps Mr. Kenwood was trying to break off the intimacy known to exist
between his son and the prime prank player of Stanhope.

"See, his hat's gone, Paul!" exclaimed Nuthin.

"Huh! what of that?" echoed the ever ready Ward, "guess I loaned it to
another fellow who lost his, and had the toothache."

It may have seemed an ingenious excuse to him, and one calculated to
cast doubts on any accusation that might be made, with the idea of
connecting him with the boy who rang the big bell. Paul, however,
believed he could afford to laugh at such a clumsy effort to crawl out
of the responsibility.

"Peter," he said, briskly, "you look him over, and see if you can find a
black mask in any of his pockets. You know I told you the fellow who ran
out through the church after dropping the bell rope had his face hidden
back of such a disguise."

Ward gave utterance to an exclamation of surprise. Evidently this was
the very first that he knew about the presence of the sexton.

"Don't you dare do it, Peter," he said, struggling violently to break
the hold of his captors, but without success; "don't you put a hand in
my pocket, you old fool, or I'll get you bounced from your job so quick
you won't know what struck you! Leave me alone, I tell you!"

That was the customary cowardly threat Ward made when he found himself
caught in any of his madcap pranks. His rich father was a man of
considerable influence in Stanhope, and many a man dared not treat the
banker's son to the whipping he so richly deserved simply because it
might be that his bread and butter depended in a measure on the good
will or the whim of the magnate.

But the sexton did not seem to be disturbed. Perhaps he had little
reason to believe Mr. Kenwood could influence the trustees of the church
to dispose of his services. Then again, it might be that he received so
small a sum for taking charge of the property, that he cared little
whether he kept his job or not.

At any rate, be that as it might, Peter lost no time in starting to
search the pockets of the squirming prisoner. Ward tried in every way he
could devise to render this task difficult; but then Peter had half a
dozen lads of his own over in the little white cottage near the church,
and was doubtless accustomed to handling obstreperous boys.

"Vat is dis, poys?" he asked, as he drew som