“Not customary? Not against the rules, is it?... A pocketknife is a weapon?... Thought so. All right, I’ll collect ’em.”
Johnny thought he heard the Chief grumble something about “fool college kids collecting pocket knives.” Then Drew hung up.
“Well,” Drew drawled, “time for a cup of coffee and a plate of hots; then we’ve got to get out and give the public a great thrill by bringing those kidnapers right in.”
“It won’t be as easy as that, will it?” Johnny asked.
“Not by a whole lot! The Red Rover must be in his place on the gridiron of Soldiers’ Field when the big game starts or the Police Department is forever disgraced.”
“It’s worse than that,” Johnny put in solemnly. “The Chief says it means his job and yours if we fail.”
“We? Are you with us?” Drew looked at the boy detective hopefully.
“To the bitter end!” Johny grinned. “Never had less of other things to do, and never wanted to do anything quite so much as to help find the Red Rover.
“Think what it means!” he enthused. “Think what sort of fellow the Red Rover is. None of your rich man’s pampered sons! A steel mill worker, that’s what he was. But he’s a student as well as a star. Been leading his class in chemistry and math. Been working his way, too. They say Marmon, the big meat packer, offered to pay his way. He’s a graduate of Old Midway. But Red turned him down; said it wasn’t his idea of good sportsmanship, nor the idea of the Grand Old Man’s. Said he was going on his own.
“And he has. Three years. Steel mill worker in summer, hotel clerk in winter. Who wouldn’t hunt for a chap like that?