Browning peered out, and two figures were seen approaching.
"How many?" anxiously whispered Tad Horner, quivering with anxiety.
"Two. They are easy. Ready for the rush."
The sophomores crouched like savage warriors in ambush.
Merriwell's peculiar, pleasant laugh was heard as the two unsuspecting freshmen approached.
Rattleton was talking, and, as usual, he was twisting his expression in his haste to say the things which flashed through his head.
"It doesn't make a dit of bifference if we haven't proved anything against him, I say Ditson can't be trusted. He's got a mooked crug—I mean a crooked mug."
"Oh, don't be too hard on the fellow till you know something for sure," advised Merriwell. "I will confess that I do not like him, but—"
There was a sudden rush of dark figures out of the shadows, and the two freshmen were clutched. Coats were flung over their heads and they were crashed to the ground.
Although taken by surprise, both lads struggled.