DAN IS KIDNAPPED
They were still cheering in front of Oxford that afternoon when Dan
left the gymnasium with Mr. Payson and set off up the hill. It was
already twilight and the windows of the dormitories were becoming
quadrangles of pale yellow. Both Mr. Payson and Dan were very silent on
the way up the path, and it was not until the former paused in front
of Merle Hall, where a footpath began that led him across the fields
toward the village, that the silence was broken.
“Still think you’d rather not take that vacation I spoke of?” Mr.
Payson asked then.
“I’d much rather not,” Dan answered.
“All right. Good night.”
“Good night, sir. I guess I won’t be down this evening.”
“No, I’ll see you to-morrow.”
Mr. Payson ran down the footpath and Dan continued around by The
Prospect. He felt a little bit uncomfortable. Perhaps Payson was right
and he ought to get away from the school for a day. Although he
insisted to the coach that he was feeling all right, he fully realized
that he was in a rather disordered condition. He hadn’t had a full
night’s sleep for nearly a week, he had almost forgotten what it was
like to be hungry and if someone had come up behind him and said “Boo!”
he would have jumped a foot in the air. He dreaded Saturday more than
he had ever dreaded anything in his life, and yet he would have given
anything he possessed or hoped to possess if he could have had Saturday
come to-morrow. The Broadwood game had taken on the aspect of a dozen
visits to the dentist all rolled into one nightmarish lump! For the
life of him he couldn’t see how it was possible for his team to win
that game. Not one fellow played as he should, the plays Payson had
given them were weak, and certain defeat stared them in the face. Dan
wished he had never accepted the captaincy!
When he reached the head of the stairs he saw that the door of Number
28 was wide open. A flood of yellow light filled the end of the hall.
Probably Gerald had callers, he thought irritably, and he didn’t want
to have to talk with anyone this evening. Luckily, however, it would
soon be supper time. But when he entered the room he found Gerald, a
thick ulster on and a cap in his hand, quite alone. Dan’s coonskin
coat lay over the back of a chair.
“I thought you’d never come,” said Gerald gayly. “Put your kitty-coat
on and don’t stand there staring. You’re going to dinner with me
to-night.”
“No, thanks, Gerald,” said Dan. “I――I don’t feel up to it.”
“You will when you get there,” replied Gerald, seizing the fur coat and
holding it invitingly open.
“I’m tired,” demurred the other. But nevertheless he worked his arms
into the sleeves and Gerald clapped a cap onto his head:
“Come on. The car will be here in a minute. We’ll take a spin first and
get up an appetite.”
Dan’s face lighted. An automobile ride sounded good. “But I’ll have to
see Collins and get leave,” he said undecidedly.
“No, you won’t. That’s all fixed. There’s the car now. Come on!” On the
way downstairs Gerald said: “By the way, I asked Tooker to come along
and bring another fellow. You don’t mind, do you? I thought we might as
well fill the car while we were about it.”
Dan did mind, but didn’t say so. In front of Clarke stood a big black
touring car, its searchlights already casting white floods of light
along the gravel drive. The chauffeur left the seat as the boys came
down the steps and stood at attention, touching his cap to them.
“Hello, Higgins!” said Dan. “How are you?”
“Nicely, Mr. Dan. You’re well, sir, I hope?”
“Fine and dandy, Higgins,” replied Dan, feeling at the moment that this
was really so. Gerald spoke for a moment in low tones with Higgins and
then took the driver’s seat, remarking in what seemed an unnecessarily
loud tone: “We’re going to take a ride first, Higgins. Get on the
running board and I’ll take you as far as the station.”
“Very well, sir.”
Gerald honked the horn and in a moment two boys appeared from around
the corner of Clarke. Each carried a bag in his hand. One proved to be
Ned Tooker and the other was Kendall Burtis.
“I asked them to spend the night with me,” explained Gerald carelessly
to Dan. “You fellows dressed warm enough?” he asked them.
“I’ve got on everything I own,” replied Ned as they dropped their bags
on the floor of the tonneau and climbed in. Dan took the front seat
with Gerald, Higgins slammed the door and mounted the running board and
the big car slid noiselessly down the circling drive. At the station it
slowed down and Higgins jumped off, touched his cap and said, “There’s
about eighteen gallons in her, Mr. Gerald.”
“All right, Higgins. Good night.”
“Good night, sir.”
Away shot the car again, across the bridge and into the main street of
Greenburg. “One way’s as good as another, I guess,” said Gerald. “Any
special place you want to go to, Dan?”
“No, I don’t care where you go.” He snuggled down into his coat,
crossed his feet and sighed contentedly. “Just keep her going, Gerald.”
The car slowed down and passed through the town cautiously, jouncing
gently over the cobbles, past the lighted stores and around the
clanging trolley cars. Then a turn to the left and the town was behind
them and the salty breeze of the Sound met their faces. The big lights
bathed the road ahead and Gerald’s fingers pulled at the throttle
lever. The engine began a steady hum and the air swept past them, damp
and cold.
“Warm enough back there?” asked Gerald over his shoulder.
“Warm as toast,” answered Ned. “Let her go.”
The road was almost straight and nearly deserted at this time of night
and the big car ate it up at forty miles an hour. Dan forgot his
troubles and his nerves. The moist air smoothed away the furrows from
his forehead and he half closed his eyes and leaned back against the
soft cushions contentedly.
On and on they went. Now and then the Sound became visible across the
flats. Then there was a rumble as a bridge swept underneath them and
they slowed down and hummed quietly through a small village. A turn
to the right and the air was warmer and the smell of salt water and
seaweed gave place to the odor of autumn woods. It was quite dark save
for the light from the car. A long hill sprang up before them and the
car took it with a fine rush, and then purred gently down the other
side. Dan thought that Gerald was getting pretty far from home and that
they would all be late for dinner at Sound View, but he didn’t care and
he said nothing. Occasionally Gerald spoke of the engine or the speed,
but for the most part it was a very silent quartette. The clock on the
dash pointed its hands to twenty minutes past six as Gerald slowed down
at the junction of four roads.
“I wonder which way we go,” he muttered. “Is there a sign post there,
Dan?”
“I don’t see any,” replied Dan sleepily.
“Neither do I. I think this road to the right is the one we want.
Tooker, put your hand in the flap on the door next to you and see if
the blue book is there, will you?”
Ned found it and passed it over and Gerald held it under the dash light
and found the map he wanted. “That’s right,” he said at last. “Just as
I thought. Here you are, Tooker.”
Ned took the book back and the car slid around the corner and began
its busy song again. Ten minutes more went by and they came to another
four-corners. Gerald stopped and looked about him in the darkness.
“This doesn’t seem right,” he said perplexedly. “Where the dickens are
we? Ever seen this place, Tooker?”
“Never. Very beautiful, isn’t it?”
Gerald and Kendall laughed and the former said: “Perfectly lovely,
but I’d like to know where it is. I must have got the wrong road back
there, after all. Looks very much as though we were lost.”
“Lost in the night,” murmured Ned. “How romantic!”
“Well, I guess the best thing to do is to keep on,” said Gerald. “I
suppose you fellows are starving to death, too.”
“I could eat if forced to,” replied Ned philosophically, “but I feel
quite happy. How about you, Curt?”
“I don’t care if I never eat,” said Kendall. “I’d rather keep on
riding.”
“Bully boy! This is our friend Burtis’s first automobile experience,
gentlemen, and he quite approves of it.”
“Is it really?” asked Gerald. “I’m glad you like it, Burtis. What do
you say, Dan? Shall we keep ahead or try to get back the way we came?”
There was no reply and Gerald leaned over his roommate. Then,
“I believe he’s asleep!” he said cautiously.
“All the better,” chuckled Ned. “On with the dance!”
Very quietly Gerald got under way again and very easily he ran the car
for a matter of four miles, avoiding ruts and bumps and doing his best
not to disturb Dan. At last lights showed ahead and the car began to
run over a smooth road under arching elm trees. Ned leaned across and
said softly:
“On your left, Pennimore; the big white house. Get it?”
“I see.” The car rolled up to the edge of the sidewalk. “Get those bags
inside, fellows, find the proprietor and tell him we want two rooms for
the night. Here we are, Dan!” But Dan had to be shaken gently before
he condescended to wake up, and when he did he looked about and asked
sleepily:
“Are we home? I must have been asleep!”
“No, we aren’t home,” replied Gerald, “but we’re where we can get
something to eat. We sort of got lost and we thought we’d better stop
and get our dinner here. It’s almost seven o’clock. There’s a telephone
here and I’ll call up the house and tell them not to wait dinner for
us.”
“All right.” Dan sat up and stared at the house. “Hello!” he said,
“I’ve been here before. This is Lloyd, isn’t it?”
“I think so,” Gerald laughed. “Tooker and Burtis have gone in to find
out. Come on. I guess the car will be all right here.”
“Dinner in fifteen minutes,” announced Ned as they entered the
Washington’s Head. “Come on and get washed up. I’m as hungry as a bear.
This is lots more fun than having dinner at your place, Pennimore,” he
continued as they clattered down the stairs. “No aspersions on Sound
View, you understand, but the unexpected is always jollier than the
expected. You had a nice little sleep, Vinton, didn’t you?”
“Fine! And I’m hungry. Hope they have some more of that good chicken we
had here the other day.”
“They have; I ordered it. That’s why we have to wait. This is a special
repast we’re getting. Broiled chicken, French fries and all the
selicacies of the deason. What ho for the banquet hall!”
Well, Ned was right. This _was_ more fun than dining in state at Sound
View with a butler and an under butler mousing around behind your chair
all the time. Even Dan agreed to that. And how he did eat! And how they
all ate! Each one of them sent back for “that other half chicken, Mary,
and a few more of the excellentissimo potatoes.”
“How do you know her name is Mary?” asked Gerald.
“All waitresses are named Mary,” answered Ned gravely. “Sometimes they
try to make you believe that their names are Gwendolyn or Hortense, but
that’s just a fake.”
“Bet you this one isn’t named Mary,” said Dan.
“Bet you she is! Wait until she comes back.”
And when fresh supplies had been served, and a new plate of steaming
hot biscuits had been passed, Ned said: “These gentlemen don’t believe
that your name is Mary. It is, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” answered the waitress with a smile.
“You see?” asked Ned in triumph.
“Bet you you asked her,” challenged Gerald.
“Nonsense! Piffle! I don’t have to ask. I can tell instantly. Have I
asked you your name to-night, Mary?”
“No, not to-night. You asked me the last time you were here,” replied
the maid with a twinkle in her eyes. At which there was a howl of
laughter, and an automobile party eating at a distant table stared
disapprovingly across at them. That was a very merry supper, or dinner.
Dan insisted that it was supper because they had broiled chicken and
hot biscuits. Kendall sided with him. Ned and Gerald said it was
dinner because they had bread pudding. “No one,” declared Ned, “ever
heard of bread pudding with hard sauce for supper. The idea is utterly
preposterous.”
After they had eaten all they possibly could they found a room at the
back of the hotel where an ancient pool table offered them diversion.
It was when they were on the fifth game, Gerald and Ned playing against
Dan and Kendall, that Gerald said: “I say, fellows, wouldn’t it be fun
to spend the night here? We might as well, you know. We’d just have to
telephone back.”
“We’d get the very dickens,” said Dan.
“We might try, though. Collins couldn’t any more than say no.” This
from Ned. “I’ll stay if the rest will.”
“I couldn’t,” said Dan. “I ought to be on hand in the morning, you
see. Your shot, Tooker.”
“Pshaw, no one needs you at school, Vinton! Be a sport! I tell you what
I’ll do. After this game is over I’ll play you a string of fifty. If I
win we stay; if you win we go back.”
“Don’t be an idiot, Tooker. I tell you I ought to be there in the
morning. If you fellows want to stay, all right. I’ll see if I can get
a carriage to take me back. I might walk, but it’s so dark I’d probably
lose my way.”
“Oh, if you won’t stay we’ll all go back,” said Gerald disappointedly.
“I only thought it would be a peach of a lark, Dan.”
“I’d like it as well as anyone,” responded Dan, “but――”
“He’s afraid I’ll beat him,” interrupted Ned sweetly, making a woefully
bad shot for the corner pocket.
“Oh, I’ll play you for fifty points, if that’s what you want,” said
Dan, “but I won’t wager staying.”
“Then I won’t play. You’d probably beat me easily. That’s game. Set ’em
up, Curt.”
“Well, if we’re going back, we’d better start,” said Gerald. “It’s
almost nine o’clock. You fellows play a game and I’ll go out and look
at the car.”
He left the room and the others went on with their game. And after that
was over they played another and then another, and it wasn’t until they
were starting a fourth that Gerald returned looking very grave:
“Say, you fellows, come on out and help me shove the car into the shed,
will you? Something’s wrong with her and she won’t start.”