Ripley had even gone so far as to bribe Tip Scammon, worthless, profligate son of the honest old janitor of the High School, to commit a series of robberies from the locker rooms in the school basement while Dick carried the key as monitor there.  The “plunder” had been found in Dick’s own room at home, and the young man had been suspended from the High School for a while.  Thanks, however, to Laura Bentley and Belle Meade, two girls then freshmen and now sophs, Tip had been run down.  Then the police made Tip confess, and he was sent away to the penitentiary for a short term.  Tip, however, refused to the last to name his accomplice.  Dick knew that Ripley was the accomplice, but kept his silence, preferring to fight all his own battles by himself.

So Fred Ripley was now a junior, in good standing as far as scholarship and school record went.

So far, during this new year, Ripley had managed to smother his hatred for Dick & Co., especially for Dick himself.

Lessons and recitations on this early December morning went off as usual.  In time the hands of the clock moved around to one o’clock in the afternoon, at which time the High School closed for the day.

The partners of Dick & Co. went down the steps of the building and all soon found their way through the surging crowds of escaped students.  This sextette turned down one of the streets and trudged along together.  At first several of the other High School boys walked along near them.  Finally, however, the crowd thinned away until only Dick & Co. were together.

“Dan,” said Dick, smilingly, “something struck you hard this morning, when Mr. Cantwell asked us all to bring the music-money on Monday.”

“He didn’t say exactly ‘money,’” retorted Dan Dalzell, quickly.  “What Prin. did say was that each one of us was to bring fifteen pennies.”

“Yes, I remember,” laughed Dick.

“Now, we couldn’t have held that mob when school let out,” pursued Dan.  “And now it’s too late.  But say, if the Prin. had only sprung that on us before recess-----”

“Well, suppose he had?” interrupted Greg Holmes, a trifle impatiently.

“Why, then,” retorted Dan, mournfully, “we could have passed word around, at recess, to have everybody bring just what the Prin. called for—–­pennies!”

“Hm!” grinned Dave Darrin, who was never slow to see the point of anything.  “Then you had a vision of the unpopular Prin. being swamped under a deluge of pennies—–­plain, individual little copper cents?”

“That’s it!” agreed Dan.  “But now, we won’t see more than a few before we go to school again Monday.  Oh—–­wow!  What a chance that takes away from us.  Just imagine the Prin. industriously counting away at thousands of pennies, and a long line of boy and girl students in line, each one waiting to pass him another handful of pennies!  Say, can you see the Prin.—–­just turning white and muttering to himself?  But there’s no chance to get the word around, now!”