"Go on!" cried Mugford.
"Shan't!" repeated his companions.
It was evident that the Triple Alliance would sink or swim together, and it so happened that by a piece of unexpected good fortune they were destined to realize the latter alternative. There was a clatter of wheels, the quick stamp of a fast-trotting horse, and a baker's cart came swinging round the corner. Diggory, whose wits never seemed to desert him at a critical moment, recognized it at once as belonging to the man who supplied the school, and springing forward he beckoned to the driver to stop, crying,—
"I say, give us a lift into Ronleigh, and we'll pay you a shilling.
We belong to the college."
The man peered round the canvas covering, and at once recognized the boys' cap and crest.
"All right," he said. "Hop up; I'll find room for you somewhere."
The danger was past; with an audible sigh of relief the three youngsters clambered into the vehicle, and the next moment were bowling rapidly along in the direction of the town.
"I say," cried Jack, "this is a stroke of good luck. Why, we shall be back in time after all."
The remainder of their conversation was lost to the ears of the driver, but seemed to consist mainly of a series of attempts on the part of Mugford to say something, which were always interrupted by a chorus of groans, and shouts of "Shut up!" from his two companions.
At length the cart arrived at Ronleigh, and set down the three passengers at the corner of Broad Street, the principal thoroughfare; and here their adventures seemed to have terminated.