Behind the line - A story of college life and football by Ralph Henry Barbour
page 74 of 222 (33%)
page 74 of 222 (33%)
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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. |
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