“It depends on us,” answered Holly, who was the president of the sophomores. “I think they’ll trail along when they see us go out.”
“If they don’t have some of their number trail after the main bunch,” spoke Phil.
“We’ll have to take our chances; that’s all,” came from Sid. “Well, are we all ready?”
“Pretty nearly,” answered Holly. “I want to wait until it’s a little darker. Then we’ll slip off. I hope the chap is there with the auto.”
“He promised to be,” said Tom, and they sat about, waiting impatiently for the hour of action to arrive. It came finally, ticked off by the impatient little clock, and four figures stole from the sophomore dormitory, and hurried across the campus.
“There they come,” said Tom, in a low voice, a moment later. “They’re trailing us all right. See ’em sneaking along on the other side?”
“Sure,” spoke Phil. It was just light enough to discern a number of hazy figures creeping along a boxwood hedge.
“See anything of that traitor, Fenton?” asked Holly, in a low voice.
“No, he’s with the other crowd,” answered Tom. “He’s in fear of his life that we’ll find him out.”
“As if we hadn’t already,” added Sid.