Fanwell Livingston was curled in the window-seat in his front room, his book close to the bleared pane, striving to find light enough by which to study. Outside it was raining in a weary, desultory way, and the heavens were leaden-hued. Livingston's quarters were on the front of that big lemon-yellow house at the corner of Oak and King Streets, about equidistant from campus and field. The outlook to-day was far from inspiriting. When he raised his eyes from the pages before him he saw an empty road running with water; beyond that a bare, weed-grown, sodden field that stretched westward to the unattractive backs of the one-and two-storied shops on Main Street. Livingston's room wasn't in any sense central, but he liked it because it was quiet, because aside from the family he had the house to himself, and because Mrs. Saunders, his landlady, was goodness itself and administered to his comfort almost as his own mother would have done.
The freshman president laid aside his book, grimaced at the dreary prospect, and took out his watch. "Ten minutes after five," he murmured. "Heavens, what a beastly dark day! I'll have to start to get dressed before long. Too bad we've got such weather for the affair." He glanced irresolutely toward the gas-fixture, and from thence to where his evening clothes lay spread out on the couch. For it was the evening of the Freshman Class Dinner. While he was striving to find energy wherewith to tear himself from the soft cushions and make a light, footsteps sounded outside his door, and some one demanded admission.
"Come in!" he called.
The door swung open, was closed swiftly and softly again, and Neil Fletcher crossed the room. He looked rather like a tramp; his hat was a misshapen thing of felt from which the water dripped steadily as he tossed it aside; his sweater--he wore no coat--was soaking wet; and his trousers and much-darned golf stockings were in scarcely better condition. His hair looked as though he had just taken his head from a water-bucket, and his face bespoke excitement.
"They're coming after you, Livingston," he cried in an intense whisper. "I heard Cowan telling Carey in the locker-room a minute ago; they didn't know I was there; it was dark as dark. They've got a carriage, and there are going to be nearly a dozen of them. I ran all the way as soon as I got on to Oak Street. There wasn't time to get any of the fellows together, so I just sneaked right over here. You can get out now and go--somewhere--to our room or the library. They won't look for you there, eh? There's a fellow at the corner watching, but I don't think he saw me, and I can settle with him; or maybe you could get out the back way and double round by the railroad? You can't stay here, because they're coming right away; Cowan said--"
"For heaven's sake, Fletcher, what do you mean?" asked Livingston. "You don't want me to believe that they're really going to run off with me?"
Neil, gasping for breath, subsided on to the window-seat and nodded his head vigorously. "That's just what I do mean. There's no doubt about it, my friend. Didn't I tell you I heard Cowan--"
"Oh, Cowan!"
"I know, but it was all in earnest. Carey and he are on their way to Pike's stable for the carriage, and the others are to meet there. They've had fellows watching you all day. There's one at the corner now--a tall, long-nosed chap that I've seen in class. So get your things and get out as soon as you can move."
Livingston, with his hands in his pockets, stared thoughtfully out of the window, Neil watching him impatiently and listening apprehensively for the sound of carriage wheels down the street.
"It doesn't seem to me that they could be idiots enough to attempt such a silly trick," said Livingston at last. "You--you're quite sure you weren't mistaken--that they weren't stringing you?"
"They didn't know I was there!" cried Neil in exasperation. "I went in late--Mills had us blocking kicks--and was changing my things over in a dark corner when they hurried in and went over into the next alley and began to talk. At first they were whispering, but after a bit they talked loud enough for me to hear every word."
"Well, anyhow--and I'm awfully much obliged, Fletcher--I don't intend to run from a few sophs. I'll lock the front door and this one and let them hammer."
"But--"
"Nonsense; when they find they can't get in they'll get tired and go away."
"And you'll go out and get nabbed at the corner! That's a clever program, I don't think!" cried Neil in intense scorn. "Now you listen to me, Livingston. What you want to do is to put your glad rags in a bag and--What's that?"
He leaped to his feet and peered out of the window. Just within his range of vision a carriage, drawn by two dripping, sorry-looking nags, drew up under the slight shelter of an elm-tree about fifty yards away from the house. From it emerged eight fellows in rain-coats, while the tall, long-nosed watcher whom Neil had seen at the corner joined them and made his report. The group looked toward Livingston's window and Neil dodged back.
"It's too late now," he whispered. "There they are."
"Look a bit damp, don't they," laughed Livingston softly as he peered out over the other's shoulder. "I'll go down and lock the door."
"No, stay here," said Neil. "I'll look after that; they might get you. I wish it wasn't so dark! How about the back way? Can't you get out there and sneak around by the field?"
"I told you I wasn't going to run away from them," replied his host, "and I haven't changed my mind."
"You're an obstinate ass!" answered Neil. He scowled at the calm and smiling countenance of the freshman president a moment, and then turned quickly and pulled the shades at the windows. "I've got it!" he cried. "Look here, will you do as I tell you? If you do I promise you we'll fool them finely."
"I'm not going out of this room," objected Livingston.
"Yes, you are--into the next one. And you're going to lock the door behind you; and I'm going to look after our sophomore callers. Now go ahead. Do as I tell you, or I'll go off and leave you to be eaten alive!" Neil, grinning delightedly, thrust the unwilling Livingston before him. "Now lock the door and keep quiet. No matter what you hear, keep quiet and stay in there."
"But--"
"You be hanged!" Neil pulled to the bed-room door, and listened until he heard the key turn on the other side. Then he stole to the window and, lifting a corner of the shade, peeped out. The group of sophomores were no longer in sight, but at that moment he heard the front door close softly. There was no time to lose. He found a match and hurriedly lighted one burner over the study table. Then, turning it down to a mere blue point of light, he flung himself back among the cushions on the window-seat, and with a heart that hammered violently at his ribs waited.
Almost in the next moment there were sounds of shuffling feet outside the study door, a low voice, and then a knock. Neil took a long breath.
"Come in," he called drowsily.
The door opened. Neil arose and walked to the gas-fixture, knocking over a chair on his way.
"Come in, whoever you are," he muttered. "Guess I was almost asleep." He reached up a hand and turned out the gas. The room, almost dark before, was now blackness from wall to wall. "Pshaw," said Neil, "I've turned the pesky thing out! Just stand still until I find a match or you'll break your shins." He groped his way toward the mantel. Now was the sophomores' opportunity, and they seized it. Neil had done his best to imitate Livingston's careful and rather precise manner of speaking, and the invaders, few of whom even knew the president of the freshman class by sight, never for an instant doubted that they had captured him.
Neil found himself suddenly seized by strong arms. With a cry of simulated surprise, he struggled feebly.
"Here, what's up, fellows?" he remonstrated. "Look out, I tell you! Don't do that!"
Then he was borne, protesting and kicking, feet foremost, through the door, out into the hall and down the stairs. When the front door was thrown open Neil was alarmed to find that although almost dark it was still light enough for his captors to discover their mistake. Hiding his face as best he could, he lifted his voice in loud cries for help. It worked like a charm. Instantly a carriage robe was thrown over his head and he was hurried down the steps, across the muddy sidewalk, and into the waiting vehicle which had been driven up before the house. Once inside, Neil was safe from detection, for the hack, the shades drawn up before the windows, was as dark as Egypt. Neil sighed his relief, muttered a few perfunctory threats from behind the uncomfortable folds of the ill-smelling robe, and, with one fellow sitting on his chest and three others holding his legs, felt the carriage start.
Despite the enveloping folds about his head he could hear quite well; hear the horses' feet go squish-squash in the mud; hear the carriage creak on its aged hinges; hear the shriek of a distant locomotive as they approached the railroad. His captors were congratulating themselves on the success of their venture.
"Easier than I thought it'd be," said one, and at the reply Neil figuratively pricked up his ears.
"Pshaw, I knew we'd have no trouble; Livingston was so cock-sure that we wouldn't try it that he'd probably forgotten all about it. I guess that conceited little fool Fletcher will talk out of the other side of his mouth for a while now. What do you think? He had the nerve to tell me last week that he guessed he could prevent a kidnaping, as there were only about a hundred of us sophs!"
The others laughed.
"Well, he is a chesty young kid, isn't he?" asked a third speaker. "I guess it's just as well we didn't have to kidnap him, eh? By the way, our friend here seems ill at ease. Maybe we'd better get off of him now and give him a breath of air. We don't want a corpse on our hands."
The sophomores found seats and the robe was unwound from about Neil's head, much to that youth's delight. He took a good long breath and, grinning enjoyably in the darkness, settled himself to make the best of his predicament. Now that he had discovered Tom Cowan to be one of his abductors, he was filled with such glee that he found it hard work to keep silent. But he did, and all the gibes of his captors, uttered in quite the most polite language imaginable, failed to elicit a reply.
"Beautiful evening for a drive, is it not?" asked one.
"I trust you had not planned to attend the freshman dinner to-night?" asked another. "For I fear we shall be late in reaching home."
"You are quite comfortable? Is there any particular road you would like to drive? any part of our lovely suburbs you care to visit?"
"Surly brute!" growled a fourth, who was Cowan. "Let's make him speak, eh? Let's twist his arm a bit."
"You sit still or I'll punch your thick head," said the first speaker coldly. "What I dislike about you, Cowan, is that you are never able to forget that you're a mucker. I wish you'd try," he continued wearily, "it's so monotonous."
Cowan was silent an instant; then laughed uncertainly.
"I suppose you fancy you're a wit, Baker," he said, "but I think you're mighty tiresome."
"Don't let it trouble you," was the calm reply. Some one laughed drowsily. Then there was silence save for the sound of the horses' feet, the complaining of the well-worn hack and the occasional voice of the driver outside on the box. Neil began to feel rather drowsy himself; the motion was lulling, and now that they had crossed the railroad-track and reached the turnpike along the river, the carriage traveled smoothly. It was black night outside now, and through the nearest window at which the curtain had been lowered Neil could see nothing save an occasional light in some house. He didn't know where he was being taken, and didn't much care. They rolled steadily on for half an hour longer, during which time two at least of his captors proclaimed their contentment by loud snoring. Then the carriage slowed down, the sleeping ones were awakened, and a moment later a flood of light entering the window told Neil that the journey was at an end.
"Far as we go," said some one. "All out here and take the car ahead!" A door was opened, two of his captors got out, and Neil was politely invited to follow. He did so. Before him was the open door of a farm-house from which the light streamed hospitably. It was still drizzling, and Neil took shelter on the porch unchallenged; now that the abductors had got him some five miles from Centerport, they were not so attentive. The others came up the steps and the carriage was led away toward the barn.
"If your Excellency will have the kindness to enter the house," said Baker, with low obeisance, "he will find accommodations which, while far from befitting your Excellency's dignity, are, unfortunately, the best at our command."
Neil accepted the invitation silently, and entering the doorway, found himself in a well-lighted room wherein a table was set for supper. The others followed, Cowan grinning from ear to ear in anticipation of the victim's discomfiture. In his eagerness he was the first to catch sight of Neil's face. With a howl of surprise he sprang back, almost upsetting Baker.
"What's the matter with you?" cried the latter. Cowan made no answer, but stared stupidly at Neil.
"Eh? What?" Baker sprang forward and wheeled their victim into the light. Neil turned and faced them smilingly. The four stared in bewilderment. It was Baker who first found words.
"Well, I'll--be--hanged!" he murmured.
Neil turned placidly to the discomfited Cowan.
"You see, Cowan," he said sweetly, "one against a hundred isn't such big odds, after all, is it?"