“But look here!” pleaded the captive. “Of course I’m sane. I’m a student at Westfield, and the fellows who brought me are either students from there, or from some other school, playing a joke on me. Now let me go!”
The man shook his head.
“They told me you’d say that, too,” he said. “I can’t let you go. I promised to keep you here until the keepers came, an’ I’m goin’ to do it. Now take it easy and you’ll be all right. I’ll bring you some breakfast. You look hungry.”
“I am, but say—” Then the hopelessness of appealing any further to the man came forcibly to Bill, and he was silent.
“That’s better,” announced the man, preparing to unlock the door again. “I live over here a little way. This house belongs to me, but it’s been vacant some time, so you can yell and holler all you please—no one will hear you. I’ll go get you some victuals. Is there anything special you’d like? My wife is a good cook.”
“Oh, bring anything,” said poor Bill. He knew that he would have to eat if he was to keep up his strength, for he had determined to try to escape by the windows as soon as he was left alone again. He had a wild idea of making a rush when the farmer opened the door, but a look at the bulky frame of the man made him change his mind.
The food was good and Bill ate a hearty meal. Then he was left alone again, the farmer, on locking the door, saying that he expected the keepers any moment. It was evident that he believed the stories the captors of Bill had told him.
Once he was alone, and when a look from the windows had assured him that he was not being watched, Bill began to put into operation his plan of getting away.
He hoped that the ropes which had bound him would enable him to make his way down them out of the window, but on tying the pieces together he discovered that they were not long enough.
“Up against it!” exclaimed the lad, until, looking more carefully out of the end casement he discovered that a stout lightning rod ran near it, down the side of the house.