“Tell you what I can do,” suggested Moran. “I can get a closed carriage and come for you.”
“That’s it,” said Dick. “We will be on the road somewhere between here and the hotel. Just you hustle. I’ll watch for you.”
“All right,” was the assurance. “Depend on me.”
And Moran started away on a run.
* * * * * * * *
Arlington awoke the next morning in a room at the Fardale House. He had a splitting headache, and his mouth was dry as a pine board. When he stirred a groan came from his lips.
“Oh, murder!” he muttered. “What is the matter with me? Where am I?”
Dick Merriwell rose from a couch near the window.
“You must feel pretty rocky this morning, Arlington,” he said.
Chester stared at him in blank astonishment.