"Well, since we can't hang him, let's proceed to the water cure. Hurry it up," growled a voice, which in spite of an assumed gruffness put him strongly in mind of Dixon's.
Frank was seized again and they walked rapidly for several minutes in what seemed to him an opposite direction from which he had come the first part of the journey. Soon their footsteps sounded on wood, which echoed flatly to their tread. It seemed like a platform. And there was the faint sound of lapping water. Could it be the river? It was the river, and when the bandage slipped from his face he saw that they were standing on the boat-house float. The river ran past, dark and silent.
"Halt. Prisoner, attention!" commanded a voice, a new one to Frank.
"You can swim?"
"Yes."
"He's the wonderful boy champion of Milton," said a sneering voice.
"Stood the world's champion off on a ten-mile race," said one.
"Set new records from 12 inches to a foot," said another.
"And got the big head about it, and sassed our valiant quarterback."