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.