“We’ll wait for you,” said Bob, who, with Cal Grainger, had been enjoying the joke. “There’ll be another car pretty quick. Get a move on, Brand!”
Willard found the field-house locked when he reached it again, and no one was in sight. There was just one thing to be done, and he did it. Finding a flat piece of iron amongst the litter behind the little building, he forced a window and crawled through. Rather to his surprise, the suitcase was just where they had left it, and, leaving as he had entered, he closed the window again and hurried back across the school grounds. It was well after five o’clock and lights were showing in some of the dormitory windows. At the main entrance a group of three awaited him; Martin, Bob and Cal. The special car had gone, but Bob assured him that there would be another one along pretty soon, and so, their bags at their feet, they perched themselves on the coping of the wall and waited. At intervals Hillsport youths passed through the gateway, eyeing them with a disfavor that brought chuckles from Bob.
“Gee, they’re a sore bunch,” he said. “We could get up a scrap without half trying.”
“Don’t see what they’ve got to be sore about,” observed Cal Grainger belligerently. “We haven’t daubed green paint all over their town!”
Willard held his watch to the light and inquired uneasily: “What time does that train go, fellows?”
“Quarter to six,” answered Martin. “What time is it?”
“Nearly half-past five,” replied Willard.
Bob whistled. “We’ll never make it,” he laughed. “When’s the next one? Anyone know?”
No one did. Cal remarked that even if the car came right then it wouldn’t get them to Darlington in time for the train that the others were taking.