SCENE I.—_Room at a country boarding-school. HARRY, C., TOM, R.

C., and WALTER, R., present. Enter DICK, L. He advances to L. C._

HARRY. Hallo, Dick, what’s up?

DICK (_with a significant smile_). Who says anything’s up?

H. There is, I know there is; I can tell it by your looks. Come, tell us, like a good fellow.

D. You must have a very vivid imagination to suppose one of my dignity (_straightening himself up_) would descend to such trifles.

TOM. One of _your_ dignity! That’s a good one. But come now, Dick, do tell us if anything is going on. It’s been the perfection of dulness here for the last three weeks. Any change would be welcome.

D. (_dryly_). Does your last remark refer to your pockets, or some other part of your habiliments?

T. (_smiling_). Apply it where you choose. But come, you’ve got some plan, I know. What is it?

D. You are right, boys, I _have_ got a plan. But remember (_impressively_), it must be a profound secret with us.

WALTER. We are willing to make the most solemn protestations of secrecy. Who’s to be the victim?

D. Joe Sherman.

H. Good! What’s the programme?

D. He is to have his fortune told. (_The boys crowd around DICK._)

T. (_eagerly_). How is it to be done?

D. Perhaps you have learned that Madame Devineresse, the fortune-teller, is stopping at the Everett House. It wouldn’t be very difficult for her to flatter Joe into the belief that he was born for some great and glorious end.

W. He’s satisfied on that point, already.

D. But you don’t understand. We will give her some hints of what he will expect, and then can have the fun of listening to the whole performance, and be better prepared to enjoy his remarks about it afterward. I have had a little conversation with Madame Devineresse, and I feel sure she will consent to co-operate with us.

T. (_excitedly_). I’ll wager an inkstand that Dick’s already had his fortune told by madame.

H. That’s nothing strange. He has had it told by every fortune-teller that’s visited the town for the last two years.

D. (_coolly_). What difference does that make, when every one tells a different story? A fellow must have some excitement in a little country village like this. Of course I don’t believe a word said by any one of them. But Sherman would. He’s just one of that kind. If she told him anything he wished to believe, he would put implicit faith in it.

W. (_shaking his head_). I don’t know about that. Joe is pretty cunning. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he should discover the plot.

D. Trust me for that. I’ve got things arranged so it is impossible he could suspect anything.

T. When is it to come off?

D. This evening, at the rooms of Madame Devineresse. We are to be concealed in the ante-room, and hear all that is said. It will be rich, I assure you. Come to my room at seven o’clock, and we will be ready to follow him. He will be there by half-past seven.

H. How do you know he is going at all?

D. I don’t expect he is thinking of it at present; but I must plan some way to induce him to go, and to be there at that hour. So I must leave you now. Don’t fail to be on hand at the appointed time.

(_Exit DICK, L. Curtain falls._)