After all, it had been a desperate chance, and Jack was philosopher enough to abide by the result. And besides that he had faith enough in his father to feel assured that he would pull through somehow, and that his confidence was not misplaced those who have read "The Battle of Easter Monday" will remember.
The umpire hurried away for the actual field of battle, and the sergeant and his party took up their post again at the gate. It was stupid work playing prisoner, and Jack hinted as much to the sergeant. If they couldn't see the battle it was a pity to lose such a fine afternoon for a ride, and it was not likely that they would be able to borrow the quad again.
"Well," said the sergeant, good-naturedly, "I don't know that I have any right to do it, but I'll release you on parole, with the understanding that you go in the opposite direction from the battle-field, and that you report at the armory this evening and turn in your rifles and cartridge-belts."
The terms were too easy not to be accepted, and though the boys were naturally disappointed in not being able to see or take part in the fight, it was something in the way of consolation to have a twenty-mile spin on the Arrow.
"Let's go to Queenston," suggested Jem Smith, as the Arrow rolled slowly back along the wood road.
It was a good fifteen miles away to the old college town, but the roads were unusually good for so early in the year, and the scenery was more than enough to make up for the steepness of the hills.
"And take luncheon at Rock Hill," added Jack. "Is it a vote?" and no one dissenting, it was so ordered.
It was a glorious afternoon for a spin, and the boys enjoyed the novel experience of four-in-hand riding. But since the Arrow was geared up for racing on a level track, it was hard work hill-climbing, and nobody was sorry to see in the distance the gray towers of Queenston. A mile away from town and Jack called a halt. The stretch of road immediately before them had been broken up preparatory to macadamizing, and it was clearly unrideable. Nobody liked the idea of trundling the long machine into town; but, on the other hand, they had set out for a run to Queenston, and it would not do to give up within sight of port. And, moreover, through the town lay the shortest road back to Fairacre.
"What's that road?" asked Dick Long, pointing to a carriage drive that entered the woods at right angles to the highway.
Jack's eyes brightened. "I remember it now," he said. "It's a private road that runs back of the college and brings us out on University Square. There can't be any objection to our using it."