“That’s no use, Sammy,” said Chester. “I’ve locked it.”
Sam scowled. “You think you’re going to keep me here?” he demanded truculently.
“Until the game’s over, Sammy,” said Prince. “We hate to do it, but we have to. You know yourself it isn’t fair to make us hit your pitching, Sammy. With you out of the game the thing is sort of evened up. We stand some slight chance of winning. You’ll be nice and comfortable here. Dinner’s almost ready, and after the game’s over Chesty will take you back in the runabout. Of course, you’re a little bit peeved now, but you’ll get over that. There’s some magazines on the table there and you ought to spend a very comfy afternoon.”
Sam listened, but his eyes were busy with his surroundings. The room was some twelve feet by ten in size and lighted by one window, which looked from the back of the stable into the yard of a house in the next street. But escape through the window was evidently out of the question, for the boys had removed a netting of heavy wire from a ground-floor casement and secured it outside the window here. Over the door was a narrow transom, but Sam reflected ruefully that it was scarcely large enough to emit a thin boy, to say nothing of one of his somewhat generous build. They had him hard and fast. Realizing this, Sam addressed himself collectively to his captors. What he said wouldn’t look very well in print; besides, it would take too much space to render his remarks in full, while to abbreviate them would give but a very faint idea of Sam’s eloquence. The others listened patiently, viewing him more in sorrow than in anger. When he was finally out of breath Gus Turnbull said:
“I don’t blame you, Sammy. That’s the way I’d feel about it. But you’ll just have to make the best of it, old man. Might as well laugh as cry, you know. Guess we’d better be going, fellows.”
“Yep,” answered Wales. “Sorry, Sammy, but it’s the fortunes of war, you know.”
“Perkins will serve your dinner in a few minutes,” said Chester. “Is there anything you’d like especially, Sammy? We want you to be as happy as—er—as circumstances will permit.”
“Sure thing,” agreed Williams with a grin.
Sam made no reply. He went over to the bed, which held a mattress but nothing more, and took the seat vacated by Williams, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his ball pants and gloomily surveyed his shoes. He wondered whether it would be worth while to try and rush the door when they opened it to go out. Four against one, however, was hopeless odds, and he decided that it would be a useless attempt.