“Let’s make one. It ought to be something more startling than the Stars and Stripes,” said Paddy. “I wish we had a class flag. I tell you, fellows, let’s run up a skull and crossbones!”
“Just the thing!” giggled Wayne. “Where’ll we get it?”
“Have to make it. Dave’s got some black paint stuff, and we’ll use a sheet or something.”
“Pillowcase would be better,” said Don. “Rip it open, you know.”
“Use your own,” responded Dave. “If I supply the paint you’d ought to supply the pillowcase.”
“Well, all right, stingy. Get your paint stuff.”
Paddy’s pillow case was quickly produced and ripped at the seams, and the four boys squatted about it on the floor, while Don drew a skull--at least, he declared it was that--and a pair of very stout bones beneath it. Then Wayne, claiming the right by virtue of the origination of the idea, filled in the design with some extremely sticky varnish, and the flag was complete.
“That’s not black at all; it’s sort of brownish,” Wayne objected.
“Well, bones aren’t black, anyway,” said Don. “Besides, it shows up finely. Now how’ll we get it up there?”
Plans were discussed until supper time, and at length it was decided to go and have a look at the pole and the halyards on the way to the dining hall. This was done. The workmen had departed, the new ropes were flapping sharply against the pole, and the boys found everything ready for them. They didn’t linger there, for fear that they would be observed and connected with the affair the next day, but went on to supper, agreeing to meet in Hampton at nine o’clock.
At a few minutes past that hour four muffled and mysterious figures scuttled across the yard, keeping in the shelter of the laboratories and the gymnasium, and gathered about the flag pole. Detection was out of the question, for the night was as dark as the most desperate mission could demand. Above them the topmast creaked complainingly in the wind and the halyards beat a tattoo against the wood. Very quickly the new flag was attached, Paddy complaining _sotto voce_ because the varnish stuck to his hands, and Wayne laid hold of the other rope.
“Hats off!” commanded Don in a husky whisper.
Four cloth caps left as many heads bare to the cold wind, Dave whistled a lugubrious march beneath his breath, and Wayne ran the flag upward into the darkness and the teeth of the March tempest.