There was seldom a prank played (from stealing fruit from neighboring farmers, to painting old Dobbin, a stray nag accustomed to feeding on the open lots, so that the ordinarily white horse resembled the National flag, and created no end of astonishment as he stalked around, prancing at a lively rate when the hot sun began to start the turpentine to burning), but that everybody at once suspected Nick of being the conspirator.
Possibly he may not have always been the chief offender; but give Dog Tray a bad name and he gets the blame of everything that happens calculated to outrage the respectability of the law-abiding community.
"I thought of him at first," replied Hugh, "but it strikes me that chap isn't of Nick's build.

You see his light leaves his figure pretty much in the dark; for he's using it principally to show him the way, so he won't stumble over any chair, and make no end of a row." The two had been stealthily creeping forward all this while, and were, therefore, gradually diminishing the distance separating them from the bearer of the electric hand-torch.

Thad had evidently been consulting his memory concerning something, for presently he again whispered in his chum's ear: "Then mebbe it might be Leon Disney, Hugh.

Seems to me that sneak would be just the one to try some mean trick like this.

And, besides, I happen to know he bought one of those little vest-pocket lights down at Paul Kramer's store only three nights ago, because I saw him testing them and heard him say he'd take it." "Yes, that looks significant, I must say, Thad.