“Terry’s at it again. He’s forever fooling around and playing jokes on someone.”
Jim Mercer laughed. “Looks like he’s trying to get a rise out of that cadet officer. Golly, Don, is it possible we’ll be wearing uniforms like that soon!”
Lieutenant Sommers turned to look coldly at the genial-looking boy with the mop of red hair. “That,” said he with precision, “is the school station wagon.”
“I see,” murmured Terry. “And those things in the front are headlights, aren’t they?”
“That’s what I’ve always called them,” retorted the Lieutenant, growing still colder.
“Thanks. Is the school far away? I mean, could I walk it?” Terry pressed.
“Not very well. Why should you want to walk it?”
“That station wagon looks like it’s ready to fall apart and I don’t care for the wild tilt of that chassis. Look at the way it leans to one side! I was just thinking——”
“Don’t,” cut in the lieutenant, a faint spot of red showing in his cheek. “Judging by appearances, thinking would make a wreck of you physically and mentally!” He turned to the six or seven boys, all in civilian clothes, who had listened with ill-concealed delight to the conversation. “All those who are bound for Woodcrest please follow me.” Turning on his heel he walked toward the station wagon.
Terry chuckled and started off. But at that moment two pairs of strong hands clutched him.