A MEETING IN THE BARN
"All here now, Paul!"
"Call the roll, somebody, won't you?"
"Keep quiet, fellows, please!"
"Shall I strike a match, Paul?"
"Not on your life, Bobolink. That crowd of Ted Slavin's is out, looking for us. Somebody must have leaked, or else Ted was tipped off. We've got to be mighty cautious, I tell you, if we want to give them the slip."
"S-s-say, d-d-don't you k-k-know we've got a fi-fine b-b-barn on our p-p-place, fellows?"
"For goodness sake; won't somebody please pound Bluff Shipley on the back, and make him bite his twisted tongue, so he can talk straight?" cried a pleading voice.
"Listen!"
There must have been a streak of authority in the tone used by Paul Morrison when he spoke this last word; every one of the other six boys crouched there, craning his neck, and listening to catch the unusual sound that had apparently reached the trained ears of their leader.