“Say, I’ve got an idea!” exclaimed Jack, as he saw some of his friends in the upper classes standing under his window in an angle of the building. “Why can’t they smuggle us something to eat? We can let down a basket or a box, and haul it up.”
“That’s the stuff!” cried Bert Wilson. “Let’s drop ’em a note.”
One was written and tossed out to Bruce Bennington and some friendly Seniors. They nodded assent as they read it, and hurried off.
“Now to make a basket of some sort!” exclaimed Jack.
“Take our fishing creels,” suggested Tom, who seemed to be busily engaged in thinking out something. Accordingly the fishing baskets were tied to strings, which the boys collected from many pockets, and were made ready to be lowered for food.
In due time, under cover of the storm, which had grown so bad that the swirling flakes hid objects ten feet away, the Seniors returned with food which they had somehow obtained. There were also bottles of cold coffee and soft drinks.
“This is great!” cried Jack, as he hauled up the creels, several times, well laden. “There isn’t going to be a feast, but it’s something.”
“And it has given me the idea I wanted!” cried Tom.
“What is it?” demanded several.
“We’ll escape from the second story windows to-night! We can make ropes of the bed clothes, in real story-book fashion, lower ourselves down, and hie into town. We’ll put up at some hotel or boarding houses there, and the school can get along without us until they recognize our rights.”