"We never could do it in time," objected Frank Rutley.
At this moment the agent came out from the office with several telegrams in his hand.
"I'm sorry," he announced, "but they say at headquarters, Mr. Hamilton, that they'd like to oblige you and the boys, but two hours is the shortest time in which they can get the special in shape again. No engineer is available."
Once more dull hopelessness fell upon the boys. Dick was almost in despair. He saw all his plans of being captain of a championship football team being dashed to the ground. It was a bitter blow.
The two coaches, likewise, were much disappointed, for it would be not a little to their credit to have whipped into first class shape a team that, the season before, was the tail-ender of the military colleges.
The young captain was pacing up and down the depot platform. His companions left him alone for a space for they knew how he felt.
"Well," began Dick after a pause, "I guess——"
He did not finish the sentence, but stood in a listening attitude. From down the road there came a steady hum and roar that told of some approaching vehicles.
"Automobiles," remarked Paul Drew. "If we had enough of them——"
An instant later there swung into view around the bend in the road four big auto trucks, new ones, each in charge of a man. The trucks were powerful ones, designed to carry heavy loads a long distance and they glistened with new paint, while in gold letters on their sides was the name of a business firm in a large city just beyond Mooretown.