"Stop, I tell yer!"
"Save your wind! You can't catch me in a thousand years."
"Can't?"
Whiz—something flew through the air. It struck Harry between the shoulders, knocking him forward on his hands and knees.
Then the officer pounced upon him, picking up his stick, which he had flung at the boy.
"Oh, I've got yer!" grated the policeman. "I'll teach yer to be tearin' down an' shiftin' round people's signs! I saw yer when yer pulled down the sign in front of the Chinese laundry, and the charge'll be larceny. We're goin' to fix some of you frisky students."
The police had been sore ever since their ineffectual attempt to get upon the campus and arrest the students who were parading with the horns captured from the band. Word had gone the rounds among the students that the "cops" were watching for an opportunity to retaliate. Evidently this policeman fancied his opportunity had come.
Larceny! Harry realized the full meaning of the charge, and he knew it would go hard with him if he were convicted. Thoughts of making a desperate effort to slip out of his coat, and leave it in the officer's clutch, flashed through his head; but the blow of the club had knocked the wind out of him, and, just then, he did not have the strength to make the effort.
Where were the others? Had they all escaped? Had they abandoned him?
"Git up!" ordered the policeman, releasing his grip on Harry a bit, in order to change his hold.