KIDNAPPED!
The message that had taken Sam away from practice had been brought to
him by one of the younger boys and, scrawled hurriedly on the back of
an envelope, was as follows: “Sam: I’m at the gate in the buggy and
must see you, but can’t leave the nag. Run up for a minute, like a good
chap, Chester. P. S.――_Important!_”
There were one or two things about which Chester Harris might want
to talk, Sam reflected, but, since that matter was uppermost to his
mind at the moment, he believed that Chester had something to confide
regarding the Towners’ plans for the game. So he tossed the ball to Hal
Morris and, without stopping to change at the gymnasium, sought Chester
at the gate. Chester, whose father was the owner of one of the larger
mills in Charlemont and very well off, was fond of driving and riding,
and, since his father’s stable was well filled with horses, was able
to gratify his taste whenever he wished. Today he was seated in a natty
runabout behind a handsome and very restive bay mare.
“Hello, Sammy,” was Chester’s greeting. “I’m glad you came because I’ve
got something to tell you; something you’ll want to hear, too. Whoa,
Judy! Stand still, can’t you. This mare’s the fidgetiest thing I ever
saw. She doesn’t want to stand still a moment, but she can certainly
travel all right!” Chester looked about him cautiously, but there was
no one nearer than the steps of South Dormitory.
“It’s about the game this afternoon, Sammy,” he went on, lowering his
voice. “Of course, I’m a Towner, but there are some things――――”
The horse began to show her impatience again at that moment and Chester
gave her his attention.
“Whoa, you idiot! Say, Sammy, get in here and we’ll drive around a bit.
I can’t talk with Judy dancing a two-step all the time.”
“I’ve got my togs on,” Sam objected, yet looking longingly at the seat
of the runabout.
“Never mind; who cares? Whoa, you pesky brute! Climb in, Sammy. That’s
the ticket. Now go if you want to!”
And Judy went. And for the subsequent minute or two Chester had his
hands full in managing the horse. When she had settled down into a long
swinging trot that simply ate up the Charlemont road Chester returned
to his subject.
“As I was saying, I’m a Towner, of course, and I want to stick with
the other fellows, but there are some things that aren’t fair. I don’t
believe in going too far to win a ball game, Sammy.”
“That’s right,” commented Sam approvingly, trying to suppress any note
of eagerness in his voice.
“So,” continued Chester, “when I heard about it I made up my mind to
sneak up here and see you and let you know what the fellows are up to.
It sounds sort of――of traitorish, though, doesn’t it?”
Chester viewed Sam anxiously.
“Well, I don’t know,” Sam replied judicially. “Of course, it’s
possible to go too far, as you just said, Chesty, and in that case I
guess you’ve got a right to refuse to go in with the others.”
“Yes, I know. But have I any right to give them away, Sammy? That’s
what’s troubling me.”
Sam, who had the right-minded boy’s dislike of anything savoring of
treachery, rather wished that Chester hadn’t put that question to him.
Of course, if Chester was silly enough or weak enough to tell tales he
wasn’t such a fool as to refuse to listen, but, on the other hand, he
didn’t care to endorse any such doings. He tried to beg the question.
“I guess that’s for you to decide, Chesty,” he responded finally.
“After all, it’s only a ball game and it doesn’t much matter who wins
it. But I guess we’re certain enough of getting it, old man.”
“Not if the Towners succeed at what they’re up to,” replied Chester
mysteriously.
“I don’t see what they could do that would affect the real game much,”
said Sam. “Of course, they can rattle us and all that sort of thing,
but we’ve been up against that before and beaten you.”
“Yes, but this is――is something different,” replied Chester darkly.
“And I think it’s sort of a mean trick to play.”
Sam’s curiosity got the better of his scruples then.
“Well, I don’t see that you’re telling me very much,” he said. “All you
are doing is taking me straight toward town at about a mile a minute;
and me in my dirty old baseball togs. Turn the horse around, Chesty.”
Chester looked doubtfully at the road, which was fairly narrow here,
and shook his head slowly.
“I don’t believe I’d better try that,” he answered. “She’s awfully hard
to turn when she’s headed toward home and this road’s pretty narrow,
Sammy. If we were in the cut-under it wouldn’t be so hard. I tell you
what we’ll do. We’ll go on to the stable and hitch up one of the other
horses. I don’t believe I ought to drive Judy much more today. She’s
pretty soft; hasn’t been used much since we got her.”
“I’ll be late for dinner,” Sam objected. “What time is it, anyway?”
He looked at his watch and found that it was only a few minutes past
twelve. “Well, all right, but hurry it up a bit. I’ve got to change
before dinner, you know.”
“It won’t take more than five minutes to change nags,” replied Chester
carelessly. “Here’s the trolley road,” he added, as they turned the
corner, “and I hope we don’t meet a car because Judy hates them like
poison.”
“What do you drive such a fool horse for?” asked Sam uneasily as he
peered forward up the tree-lined avenue. “Think I want to have my neck
broken?”
“You won’t,” laughed Chester. “There isn’t a car in sight and we’re
only two blocks from home. Easy, girl, easy! She wants her dinner, I
guess.”
“And I want mine,” said Sam decisively.
“Oh, you’ll get it right on time,” responded Chester lightly. “Whoa,
Judy! Steady, girl, steady! That’s only a piece of paper and it won’t
hurt you. Here we are.”
The Harris residence was a big square wooden house set in its own
grounds in the residence district of Charlemont. There was a big
lawn and a good deal of shrubbery and many ornamental trees around
the house. The stable, which had been recently built, looked almost
as large as the residence. Judy sped up the smooth gravel drive and
whinnied loudly and impatiently when Chester pulled her down at the
carriage room door.
“All right, Perkins?” called Chester.
A neatly dressed stable man appeared, apparently doing his best to hide
a broad grin behind one of his large hands.
“All clear, sir,” he said.
Chester drove on into the carriage house. “Put one of the other horses
in, Perkins, will you? I’m going to take Mr. Phillips back to school.”
“Yes, sir. Which one, sir? The Governor hasn’t been out today.”
“He will do then. Better get out and stretch your legs, Sammy. And, by
the way, you haven’t seen the room I’ve fixed up upstairs, have you?”
“What sort of a room?” asked Sam.
“Come up and see.” Chester led the way to a door and politely held it
open for Sam to pass through. The door revealed a flight of stairs and
Sam climbed them, Chester at his heels. The upper floor of the stable
was given over at one end to piles of hay in bales and to bins for feed
and at the other was partitioned off into rooms for the stablemen and
coachmen. There were six of these rooms, opening from an entry that ran
through the centre of the building.
“Which way?” asked Sam.
“First door to your left,” replied Chester. “Go ahead in; it’s
unlocked, I guess.”
Sam opened the door and entered. The room was a small bedroom, and,
seated on the bed and on the two chairs which the place contained, were
four boys: Morton Prince, Joe Williams, Milton Wales and Gus Turnbull.
For an instant Sam gazed in surprise. Then realization came to him and
he turned and made a dive for the door. But it was closed and Chester
stood grinning with his back to it.
“Welcome, Sammy,” said Prince.
“Enjoy your drive?” asked Gus Turnbull.
Sam shrugged his shoulders.
“What are you fellows up to?” he asked indifferently. “I suppose it’s
some silly joke. I’m going home.”
He tried to push Chester aside.
“That’s no use, Sammy,” said Chester. “I’ve locked it.”
Sam scowled. “You think you’re going to keep me here?” he demanded
truculently.
“Until the game’s over, Sammy,” said Prince. “We hate to do it, but we
have to. You know yourself it isn’t fair to make us hit your pitching,
Sammy. With you out of the game the thing is sort of evened up. We
stand some slight chance of winning. You’ll be nice and comfortable
here. Dinner’s almost ready, and after the game’s over Chesty will take
you back in the runabout. Of course, you’re a little bit peeved now,
but you’ll get over that. There’s some magazines on the table there
and you ought to spend a very comfy afternoon.”
Sam listened, but his eyes were busy with his surroundings. The room
was some twelve feet by ten in size and lighted by one window, which
looked from the back of the stable into the yard of a house in the
next street. But escape through the window was evidently out of the
question, for the boys had removed a netting of heavy wire from a
ground-floor casement and secured it outside the window here. Over
the door was a narrow transom, but Sam reflected ruefully that it was
scarcely large enough to emit a thin boy, to say nothing of one of
his somewhat generous build. They had him hard and fast. Realizing
this, Sam addressed himself collectively to his captors. What he said
wouldn’t look very well in print; besides, it would take too much space
to render his remarks in full, while to abbreviate them would give but
a very faint idea of Sam’s eloquence. The others listened patiently,
viewing him more in sorrow than in anger. When he was finally out of
breath Gus Turnbull said:
“I don’t blame you, Sammy. That’s the way I’d feel about it. But you’ll
just have to make the best of it, old man. Might as well laugh as cry,
you know. Guess we’d better be going, fellows.”
“Yep,” answered Wales. “Sorry, Sammy, but it’s the fortunes of war, you
know.”
“Perkins will serve your dinner in a few minutes,” said Chester. “Is
there anything you’d like especially, Sammy? We want you to be as happy
as――er――as circumstances will permit.”
“Sure thing,” agreed Williams with a grin.
Sam made no reply. He went over to the bed, which held a mattress but
nothing more, and took the seat vacated by Williams, thrusting his
hands into the pockets of his ball pants and gloomily surveyed his
shoes. He wondered whether it would be worth while to try and rush the
door when they opened it to go out. Four against one, however, was
hopeless odds, and he decided that it would be a useless attempt.
“I wouldn’t try the window,” said Chester, “because, even if you
managed to get through the wire, you’d have a twenty foot drop. You can
make all the noise you like, Sammy; the horses won’t mind and Perkins
is being paid to look after you. By the way, what I started to tell you
was that the Towners had decided to kidnap you, Sammy. It may be wrong
to give them away, but there are some things I just can’t stand for!”
Chester went out grinning and the rest followed. The key turned in the
lock and Sam heard them go shuffling downstairs, talking in low voices
and laughing softly. He ground his teeth and clinched his hands. In a
moment the footsteps died away, the door at the bottom of the stairs
closed and the place was silent. Sam looked at his watch. It was one.
There was almost an hour before the game would begin, he told himself,
and in that hour he meant to get out of there.
But when he had made the rounds of his prison, tried the door,
peered out of the window and measured the transom again he wasn’t so
certain about it. The partitions were of inch boards, but without
something more than his pocket knife he didn’t believe he could cut
his way through them. Besides, even if he succeeded, there was Perkins
to reckon with, and Perkins was a hefty, muscular-looking chap of
something slightly less than six feet! He went back dejectedly to the
bed. A minute or two later sounds reached him and the key turned in the
door. Sam edged toward it, prepared to spring through if he had the
chance. But it opened very cautiously and Perkins put only his head in.
“I’ve got your dinner, sir, out here. Keep over by the window and I’ll
pass it in.”
“Your name’s Perkins, isn’t it?” asked Sam with an amiable smile.
The man smiled back and nodded, pushing the door open and setting a
well-loaded tray on the chair just inside.
“Perkins it is, sir. If there’s anything you’re wantin’ just holler;
I’ll hear you, sir.”
“Perkins, I want to get out of here,” Sam replied ingratiatingly.
Perkins wagged his head.
“Sure, I know,” he answered. “Mr. Chester told me you’d be wanting to
go, but you was to be kept here until he got back.”
“You know you have no right to detain me,” suggested Sam, trying to
speak sternly. Perkins nodded again, but quite untroubledly.
“Orders is orders, though, sir.”
Sam ran a hand in a trousers pocket, pondering bribery. But there was
not so much as a Lincoln penny in his ball togs. He determined to try
intimidation.
“Perkins,” he said gravely and kindly, “I wouldn’t want to make any
trouble for you, because, as you say, you’re just obeying orders. But
in holding me here against my wishes you’re――er――making yourself liable
to prosecution for kidnapping.” Sam paused impressively. Perkins, who
had drawn the door close all save a space broad enough to accommodate
his thin face, listened respectfully and nodded.
“Yes, sir, you may be right, sir. But, begging your pardon, sir,
there’s ice cream on that tray and I’m thinking it’ll be melted pretty
quick, sir.”
“Never mind about the ice cream,” replied Sam irascibly. “What I want
to know is if you’re going to keep me prisoner here against my wishes
and――er――the law?”
Perkins scratched his head reflectively.
“Orders is orders,” he said finally.
“But, of course, you knew that Chester was only joking,” said Sam,
essaying a chuckle of amusement. Perkins smiled responsively.
“Sure, I knew,” he answered.
“Yes, that was just his joke,” said Sam heartily, arising and moving
casually toward the door. “He’s fond of a joke, Perkins.”
“He is, sir,” responded Perkins, drawing the door a little further shut.
“Why, some of the jokes he gets off at school are too funny for
anything,” continued Sam.
“I can believe that, sir.” The door was now closed all but a scant two
inches.
“Yes, I’d tell you about some of them, but I’ve got to be going now. We
have a ball game on this afternoon, Perkins, and I’m going to pitch for
our team. It wouldn’t do for me to be late, you see.”
Sam was at the door now. He laid his hand on the knob, but at the same
instant the door closed and latched and the key turned outside. Sam
lost his temper.
“Perkins!” he cried.
“Yes, sir?”
“If you don’t open this door at once I’ll kick a hole through it! And
what’s more the minute I get out I’ll go to the police and have you
arrested!” To emphasize his threats Sam delivered a kick that cracked a
panel.
“I wouldn’t do that, sir,” said Perkins soothingly from beyond.
“Begging your pardon, sir, if I was you I’d eat my dinner before it
gets cold entirely.”
“Open the door!” cried Sam sternly.
There was no answer. On the stairs Perkins’s boots sounded retreat. Sam
stormed and kicked at the door, but, although it was an easy enough
matter to crack the panels, the lock held firmly. Besides, baseball
shoes aren’t stiff enough at the toes to make good battering-rams. Sam
retreated to the bed again, his foot tingling. Presently philosophy
prompted him to investigate what lay under the big napkin on the tray.
After all, he _was_ hungry, and whether he was to make his escape or
remain a prisoner he might as well eat meanwhile. It was evident that
Chester had intended that he should not suffer for want of food, for on
the big tray were soup and fish and roast lamb and three vegetables,
milk, bread and butter, rhubarb pie, ice cream and cake. Sam’s face
cleared.
“Gee,” he muttered, “this beats school feed!”
He bore the tray across to the bed and placed it on the mattress. Then
he pulled a chair in front of it and began to eat. He did full justice
to that repast. The viands weren’t very hot, and the ice cream _had_
melted somewhat, but Sam wasn’t fussy and everything tasted awfully
good to him. If, he reflected, his absence from the pitcher’s box
wasn’t endangering the success of the team, he would be quite content.
Twenty minutes later the dinner was only a pleasant memory, and Sam,
his hunger amply satisfied, looked longingly at the bed and for a
moment the stern voice of duty grew very dim. But to his credit he
heroically resisted the allurement of the mattress and once more put
his mind on the problem of escape.
The door was out of the question, and so was the transom. To cut his
way through a wall was impracticable, since by the time he had made a
hole large enough to crawl out by the game would be over. Remained,
then, only the window. He examined that carefully. The lower sash was
raised and Sam put out a hand and tentatively tried the wire screen. It
didn’t seem very firm, and, putting all his strength against a lower
corner, he pushed. It gave. Hopefully he looked around for something
with which to batter it. Fortunately the bed, an inexpensive wooden
one, had slats, and in a trice Sam was working with one against the
edge of the screen. Out came a staple. Sam put the end of the slat
between screen and clapboard and pried. It was easy now. In ten minutes
he had the lower part of the wire netting bent out and upward and he
was viewing the situation despondently with his head and shoulders out
of the window. Below him, almost twenty feet distant, was the ground.
To complicate matters, a picket fence ran along behind the stable at a
distance of about eighteen inches. If he could be certain of landing
on the farther side of the fence, in the next yard, the drop might be
feasible, but to land on the pickets didn’t appeal to Sam. If he had a
rope, he reflected, escape would be simple. But there was nothing of
the sort at hand, and there wasn’t even a sheet or blanket on the bed.
He might rip the cover off the mattress, cut it in strips and tie the
strips together, he reflected, and so lower himself to the ground. But
that would take a long time and it was already twenty minutes to two.
He sat down on the bed again and strove to think of some better scheme.
He wondered why Perkins had not heard him knocking off the screen and
concluded that the stableman was in the front of the building. Or
perhaps he was at his dinner! If he could only get out of the room now
it was likely he could escape from the stable without being detected.
There, however, was the rub. There was no way to get out of the
room save by the window, and by the time he had made his rope of the
mattress ticking Perkins would be back. He viewed the door darkly. If
only it opened outward instead of into the room he might batter it down
with the bed slat!
He went to the window again and looked out. To climb down was
impossible, since there was nothing to put hand or foot on. By chance
he looked along the wall to the left. Not three feet away was another
window! If he could reach that, gain the next room and so get out
into the hall, he was sure he could win to freedom! He leaned as far
out as he dared, and, to his joy, saw that the next window was open
at the bottom. In a minute he had laid his plans. Squirming back into
the room, he seized his slat and began a new attack on the screen. It
was necessary to work through the upper part of the window and from a
chair, and he tried to make as little noise as possible. The screen
proved more stubborn than before, and Sam’s efforts to be quiet made it
slow work. But in the end only one staple remained. He had only to get
that out, seize the screen before it fell, and lift it into the room.
He paused to get his breath, and in that moment he heard the sound of
footsteps on the stairs!
He pushed the window sashes back as they had been, slipped the slat
under the bed, removed the chair from in front of the window, put the
tray on it, and threw himself on the bed just as a knock came at the
door. He made no answer until Perkins spoke.
“I’m after the tray, sir.”
“Eh? What?” asked Sam sleepily. “Oh, that you, Perkins? What’s wanted?”
“I’m after the tray, sir.” The key turned and Perkins opened the door
cautiously.
“Oh, all right. Come in and get it.”
“I’d rather you’d hand it to me,” replied Perkins dubiously, realizing
that if he crossed the room for the tray Sam could easily slip out of
the door.
Sam considered. He didn’t want the stableman to notice the screen, now
hanging bent and awry at the window, and so the only thing to do was
to get him out as soon as possible. Sam arose, grumbling.
“You might at least let a fellow sleep, Perkins.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Here’s your tray.” Sam picked it up and carried it to the door.
“Just set it down, if you please, sir, on the chair. Thank you, sir. I
hope you enjoyed your dinner.”
“So, so,” replied Sam with a yawn, retreating again to the bed. “What
time is it, Perkins?”
“About two, sir.”
“Is that all? Guess I’ll go to sleep again.” Sam pillowed his head
in his arms. Perkins took up the tray, cast a glance about the room
without detecting the condition of the screen, closed and locked the
door and stamped off downstairs. Sam arose with a chuckle and shook his
fist in Perkins’s direction.
“I’ll fool you yet, you old dunderhead!” he murmured.
Discretion prompted him to wait a while before beginning operations
again. When some ten minutes had passed, and there were no sounds
indicating a return on the part of the stableman, Sam went back to his
labors. The final staple was wrenched out and Sam pulled the mutilated
wire screen into the room and hid it under the bed. Then he pulled his
cap down firmly and clambered over the window sashes. Standing on the
ledge outside and holding on to the casement, it was easy enough to
reach across and lower the sashes of the next window. Then, a trifle
uneasy at the thought of that picket fence beneath, he stepped across
to the next ledge, and from there, after some effort, squirmed over the
sashes into the adjoining room.
This room was similar in size to the one he had escaped from, and, like
it, was untenanted. Best of all, however, the door was wide open and
the entry lay before him! That was a relief, for all along Sam had been
haunted by the fear that when he gained this room he would find himself
only out of the frying pan into the fire. For, with this door locked
on the outside, too, he would have been no better off than before. He
tiptoed across the floor, which squeaked alarmingly, and listened at
the doorway. All was silent. He looked out. The dim entry was empty.
Some ten feet distant was the stairway and freedom!
Retreating to a chair, he removed his shoes, for the cleats made too
much noise when he walked. He tied them together with the laces and
again tiptoed to the door. There was no sound to be heard, save an
occasional stamp from one of the horses in the farther end of the
stable. He advanced along the entry cautiously and as he passed the
door of the room from which he had made his escape, the key met his
eyes. With a malicious grin he extracted it and dropped it into his
pocket, leaving a locked door to puzzle Mr. Perkins should that worthy
seek admittance. The stairway was dark, and the door at the foot of it
was tightly closed. That presented difficulties. Supposing, when he had
opened the door, he found himself confronted by the stableman! If only
it were possible to determine Perkins’s whereabouts!
Presently he began the descent of the stairs, trying each step with his
foot before trusting his entire weight to it. Even then one or two of
them creaked ominously and caused Sam to stop and listen. At the bottom
he crouched against the door with his ear close to the keyhole, which,
as it held a key, could not be seen through. He could hear nothing.
At length he made up his mind to risk it, and very softly he turned
the knob. Luckily the latch worked easily and without noise. Then he
pushed the door open the merest crack and peered through. Before him
was the carriage room with several vehicles lined along the further
end. No one, however, was in sight. He opened the door a little more,
increasing his field of vision. Gradually the wide doorway came into
sight, and a flood of sunlight from outside. Sam ventured his head
around the edge of the door, only to pull it quickly back again. For,
sitting at the left of the carriage room door, tilted against the
casing in the sunlight and reading a newspaper, was Perkins!
[Illustration: “Tilted against the casing in the sunlight and reading a
newspaper, was Perkins.”]