“Is that you—” began a voice.
“Yes, keep quiet!” was the quick retort. “We’ve got him. Help carry him to the room, and don’t talk.”
Before Bill could prevent it he was again tied up, and some one lifted him from the car. He was carried along in the darkness, trying in vain to make out what sort of a place he was in.
Then he was laid, none too gently, on a pile of some rags in a corner of a dark room. The door was closed and Bill was left alone with his anxious and gloomy thoughts.
“Potato salad!” he gasped, half aloud, for the rags had been removed from around his head, “I hope I get away from here in time to play in the Freshman game to-morrow! It will be fierce if I don’t.”
Bill listened. He could hear the auto puffing away. He was left alone in the deserted shack—at least he thought he was alone, for he heard no noise.
Bright and early the next morning Pete and Cap were up, ready to go to the rescue of their brother. They arranged to cut their lectures that day, as did also Whistle-Breeches, and, though many more students wanted to take part in the search, it was thought best not to make too much of the affair.
“For, whoever has done it will hear about us getting excited about it and they’ll have more of a laugh on us than ever,” declared Cap. “It’s a disgrace that we ever let Bill be captured.”
“We couldn’t help it,” was Pete’s opinion. “But we’ll get him back.”