Joe nodded soberly. “We had to be,” he said grimly. “Once we had started, we had to go through with it, Harmon.”
“But suppose I hadn’t given in! Suppose I’d gone to the principal here and told him that you fellows had kidnapped me and locked me up in a room?”
Joe smiled gently. “No chance of that, old man. If you hadn’t decided to stay with us by midnight we’d have taken you back to the station and put you on the twelve-twenty train.”
“Hm! And I—er—I wouldn’t have had anything to say?”
“No.” Joe shook his head. “There’d have been three of us anyway; maybe four; and we’d have fixed you so you couldn’t talk much.”
Harmon smiled. “Still, afterwards I could have talked. I could have come back, or written a letter and spilled the beans.”
“Yes, you could have done that, but we argued that once away from here you’d get over your grouch and forget it. Besides, a chap doesn’t want to look foolish.”
“That’s so,” agreed Harmon, and he repeated it more emphatically in the next breath. “It is uncomfortable, isn’t it?” The arrival of Bob Newhall made a response by Joe unnecessary, although the latter wondered just a little over Harmon’s expression and the inflection of his voice. Bob gave a shout of triumph and joy when he saw Harmon.
“A brand from the burning!” he exclaimed. “This is great! I just knew you’d see reason, Harmon! Say, I’m tickled to death!”