"Be on your guard, Tom," warned Sam.

"We've got to get there," was the grim response. "The girls may be in
danger."

"Right you are! Let her go for all she is worth!"

They had been making many turns and going up-hill and down, but now
came a straight stretch of several miles, and here Tom put on all the
extra power the touring car could command. From forty miles an hour,
they reached forty-five, and then fifty, and, at one point, the
speedometer registered fifty-four.

"My gracious, Tom, don't kill us!" yelled Bob, to make himself heard
above the roar of the motor, for Tom had the muffler cutout wide open.

The youth at the wheel did not answer. He was giving all his attention
to the running of the car, and this was needed. Along the roadway they
sped like an arrow from a bow, past trees and fences, with here and
there a farmhouse or a barn. Once Tom saw a white spot in the road
ahead, and threw off the power. But it was only a flying newspaper,
and on he went as speedily as before.

"It's at Hope, all right!" yelled Stanley, when they slowed down at a
turn of the road.

"Yes, but I don't think it is any of the main buildings," returned
another student.

"I hope not," came from Sam.