“The Red Rover.” That was the name the fans had given him. Well, the Red Rover would not run. He smiled grimly. But, after all, what did it matter? They were to play Woodville. What was Woodville? A weak team. Old Midway’s cubs could beat them. It was a midweek game, mainly for practice. He wasn’t needed for that. But Saturday’s game! Ah, well, that was another story.
“But kidnaped!” He brought himself up with a start. “I’ve been kidnaped! Dragged from my berth. Whirled all the way to some place where wild creatures laugh at midnight.”
Kidnaped. The whole affair seemed absurd to him. He had read of kidnapings. There had been many of late. It had always made his blood boil when some innocent child, some helpless woman had been carried away to a dismal hole and held for ransom. “Low-lived curs,” he had called the kidnapers.
“Ransom!” He laughed a low laugh. He was a college student, a football player for two months of the year, a night clerk in a hotel the rest of the year, an orphan boy working his way through the university. He thought there were three dollars in his pocket, but he could not be sure.
“Kidnaped! Must have got the wrong fellow this time. Tell ’em who I am, and they’ll turn me loose; hustle me back, like as not.”
He was wrong. They would neither turn him loose nor hustle him back.
“All right, Red. You can get out.” These words were spoken as the airplane door swung open.
“Red!” the boy thought with a start. “So they do know who I am. They did mean to get me. I wonder why!
“Whew!” he whistled as a cold breeze struck his cheek. “Cold up here.”
“Cold enough,” the other grumbled. “Come on, shake a leg! This boat swings about.”