“I don’t like to throw suspicion on anyone,” Dick replied.  “Still, I can’t imagine anyone else who would have as much temptation to try to lay me up.  Tip Scammon acted as Fred Ripley’s tool, last year, in trying to make me out a High School thief.  Tip was sent away, and Fred didn’t have to suffer at all, because Tip wouldn’t betray his employer.  But Tip must have felt sore at me many a time when he was breaking rock at the penitentiary.”

The two chums walked slowly back to Main Street, still talking.

“I saw you ahead of me, on the street,” Dave rattled on.  “I was trying to overtake you, without calling, when that thing came whizzing by your head.  Say, Dick, I wonder—–­”

“What?” demanded Prescott.

“Oh, of course, it’s a crazy notion.  But I was wondering if Mr. Cantwell could have it in for you so hard that he’d put anyone up to lying in ambush for you.”

Dick started, then thought a few moments.  “No,” he decided.  “Cantwell may be erratic, and he certainly has a treacherous temper, and some mean ways.  But this was hardly the sort of trick he’d go in for.”

“Then it was Tip Scammon, all by himself,” declared Darrin, with great conviction.

“But to go back to Mr. Cantwell,” Dick resumed, with a grin, “I must tell you something really funny.  Prin. went to School Board tonight with a long, bright knife sharpened for me.  But he didn’t do a thing.”

Then Prescott confessed to being a “Blade” representative, and told of the principal’s visit to the Board, and of his hurried departure.

Dave laughed heartily, though what seemed to amaze him most of all was that Dick had found a chance to write for pay.

“Of course you can do it, Dick,” continued his loyal friend, “but I never thought that anyone as young as you ever got the chance.”

“It came my way,” Dick went on, “and I’m mighty glad it did. 
So-----”

“Wow!” muttered Dave, suddenly, then started off at a sprint, as he muttered: 

“Here’s Tip Scammon now!”

Both boys moved along on a hot run.  Tip was walking slowly along Main Street, giving a very good imitation of one unconcerned.

He turned when he heard the running feet behind him, however.  His first impulse seemed to be to take to his heels.  But the young jailbird quickly changed his mind, and turned to face them, an inquisitive look on his hard cunning face.

“Good evenin’, fellers.  Where’s the fire?” he hailed.

“In my eyes!  See it?” demanded Dave Darrin.  His dark eyes certainly were flashing as he reached out and seized Tip by one shoulder.

“Now don’t ye git festive with me!” warned Tip.

“Oh, we don’t feel ready for anything more festive than a lynching
party,” muttered Dave, hotly.   “See here, you-----”

“I s’pose ye think ye can do all ye wanter to me, jest because I’ve been doin’ my stretch?” demanded Tip, aggressively.  “But don’t be too sure.  Take yer hand offen my shoulder!”