THE KIDNAPING
Fanwell Livingston was curled in the window-seat in his front room, his
book close to the bleared pane, striving to find light enough by which
to study. Outside it was raining in a weary, desultory way, and the
heavens were leaden-hued. Livingston's quarters were on the front of
that big lemon-yellow house at the corner of Oak and King Streets, about
equidistant from campus and field. The outlook to-day was far from
inspiriting. When he raised his eyes from the pages before him he saw an
empty road running with water; beyond that a bare, weed-grown, sodden
field that stretched westward to the unattractive backs of the one-and
two-storied shops on Main Street. Livingston's room wasn't in any sense
central, but he liked it because it was quiet, because aside from the
family he had the house to himself, and because Mrs. Saunders, his
landlady, was goodness itself and administered to his comfort almost as
his own mother would have done.
The freshman president laid aside his book, grimaced at the dreary
prospect, and took out his watch. "Ten minutes after five," he murmured.
"Heavens, what a beastly dark day! I'll have to start to get dressed
before long. Too bad we've got such weather for the affair." He glanced
irresolutely toward the gas-fixture, and from thence to where his
evening clothes lay spread out on the couch. For it was the evening of
the Freshman Class Dinner. While he was striving to find energy
wherewith to tear himself from the soft cushions and make a light,
footsteps sounded outside his door, and some one demanded admission.
"Come in!" he called.
The door swung open, was closed swiftly and softly again, and Neil
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.
They've had fellows watching you all day. There's one at the corner
now--a tall, long-nosed chap that I've seen in class. So get your things
and get out as soon as you can move."
Livingston, with his hands in his pockets, stared thoughtfully out of
the window, Neil watching him impatiently and listening apprehensively
for the sound of carriage wheels down the street.
"It doesn't seem to me that they could be idiots enough to attempt such
a silly trick," said Livingston at last. "You--you're quite sure you
weren't mistaken--that they weren't stringing you?"
"They didn't know I was there!" cried Neil in exasperation. "I went in
late--Mills had us blocking kicks--and was changing my things over in a
dark corner when they hurried in and went over into the next alley and
began to talk. At first they were whispering, but after a bit they
talked loud enough for me to hear every word."
"Well, anyhow--and I'm awfully much obliged, Fletcher--I don't intend to
run from a few sophs. I'll lock the front door and this one and let
them hammer."
"But--"
"Nonsense; when they find they can't get in they'll get tired and go
away."
"And you'll go out and get nabbed at the corner! That's a clever
program, I don't think!" cried Neil in intense scorn. "Now you listen to
me, Livingston. What you want to do is to put your glad rags in a bag
and--What's that?"
He leaped to his feet and peered out of the window. Just within his
range of vision a carriage, drawn by two dripping, sorry-looking nags,
drew up under the slight shelter of an elm-tree about fifty yards away
from the house. From it emerged eight fellows in rain-coats, while the
tall, long-nosed watcher whom Neil had seen at the corner joined them
and made his report. The group looked toward Livingston's window and
Neil dodged back.
"It's too late now," he whispered. "There they are."
"Look a bit damp, don't they," laughed Livingston softly as he peered
out over the other's shoulder. "I'll go down and lock the door."
"No, stay here," said Neil. "I'll look after that; they might get you. I
wish it wasn't so dark! How about the back way? Can't you get out there
and sneak around by the field?"
"I told you I wasn't going to run away from them," replied his host,
"and I haven't changed my mind."
"You're an obstinate ass!" answered Neil. He scowled at the calm and
smiling countenance of the freshman president a moment, and then turned
quickly and pulled the shades at the windows. "I've got it!" he cried.
"Look here, will you do as I tell you? If you do I promise you we'll
fool them finely."
"I'm not going out of this room," objected Livingston.
"Yes, you are--into the next one. And you're going to lock the door
behind you; and I'm going to look after our sophomore callers. Now go
ahead. Do as I tell you, or I'll go off and leave you to be eaten
alive!" Neil, grinning delightedly, thrust the unwilling Livingston
before him. "Now lock the door and keep quiet. No matter what you hear,
keep quiet and stay in there."
"But--"
"You be hanged!" Neil pulled to the bed-room door, and listened until he
heard the key turn on the other side. Then he stole to the window and,
lifting a corner of the shade, peeped out. The group of sophomores were
no longer in sight, but at that moment he heard the front door close
softly. There was no time to lose. He found a match and hurriedly
lighted one burner over the study table. Then, turning it down to a mere
blue point of light, he flung himself back among the cushions on the
window-seat, and with a heart that hammered violently at his
ribs waited.
Almost in the next moment there were sounds of shuffling feet outside
the study door, a low voice, and then a knock. Neil took a long breath.
"Come in," he called drowsily.
The door opened. Neil arose and walked to the gas-fixture, knocking over
a chair on his way.
"Come in, whoever you are," he muttered. "Guess I was almost asleep." He
reached up a hand and turned out the gas. The room, almost dark before,
was now blackness from wall to wall. "Pshaw," said Neil, "I've turned
the pesky thing out! Just stand still until I find a match or you'll
break your shins." He groped his way toward the mantel. Now was the
sophomores' opportunity, and they seized it. Neil had done his best to
imitate Livingston's careful and rather precise manner of speaking, and
the invaders, few of whom even knew the president of the freshman
class by sight, never for an instant doubted that they had captured him.
[Illustration]
Neil found himself suddenly seized by strong arms. With a cry of
simulated surprise, he struggled feebly.
"Here, what's up, fellows?" he remonstrated. "Look out, I tell you!
_Don't do that_!"
Then he was borne, protesting and kicking, feet foremost, through the
door, out into the hall and down the stairs. When the front door was
thrown open Neil was alarmed to find that although almost dark it was
still light enough for his captors to discover their mistake. Hiding his
face as best he could, he lifted his voice in loud cries for help. It
worked like a charm. Instantly a carriage robe was thrown over his head
and he was hurried down the steps, across the muddy sidewalk, and into
the waiting vehicle which had been driven up before the house. Once
inside, Neil was safe from detection, for the hack, the shades drawn up
before the windows, was as dark as Egypt. Neil sighed his relief,
muttered a few perfunctory threats from behind the uncomfortable folds
of the ill-smelling robe, and, with one fellow sitting on his chest and
three others holding his legs, felt the carriage start.
Despite the enveloping folds about his head he could hear quite well;
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.
"Beautiful evening for a drive, is it not?" asked one.
"I trust you had not planned to attend the freshman dinner to-night?"
asked another. "For I fear we shall be late in reaching home."
"You are quite comfortable? Is there any particular road you would like
to drive? any part of our lovely suburbs you care to visit?"
"Surly brute!" growled a fourth, who was Cowan. "Let's make him speak,
eh? Let's twist his arm a bit."
"You sit still or I'll punch your thick head," said the first speaker
coldly. "What I dislike about you, Cowan, is that you are never able to
forget that you're a mucker. I wish you'd try," he continued wearily,
"it's so monotonous."
Cowan was silent an instant; then laughed uncertainly.
"I suppose you fancy you're a wit, Baker," he said, "but I think you're
mighty tiresome."
"Don't let it trouble you," was the calm reply. Some one laughed
drowsily. Then there was silence save for the sound of the horses' feet,
the complaining of the well-worn hack and the occasional voice of the
driver outside on the box. Neil began to feel rather drowsy himself; the
motion was lulling, and now that they had crossed the railroad-track and
reached the turnpike along the river, the carriage traveled smoothly. It
was black night outside now, and through the nearest window at which the
curtain had been lowered Neil could see nothing save an occasional
light in some house. He didn't know where he was being taken, and didn't
much care. They rolled steadily on for half an hour longer, during which
time two at least of his captors proclaimed their contentment by loud
snoring. Then the carriage slowed down, the sleeping ones were awakened,
and a moment later a flood of light entering the window told Neil that
the journey was at an end.
"Far as we go," said some one. "All out here and take the car ahead!" A
door was opened, two of his captors got out, and Neil was politely
invited to follow. He did so. Before him was the open door of a
farm-house from which the light streamed hospitably. It was still
drizzling, and Neil took shelter on the porch unchallenged; now that the
abductors had got him some five miles from Centerport, they were not so
attentive. The others came up the steps and the carriage was led away
toward the barn.
"If your Excellency will have the kindness to enter the house," said
Baker, with low obeisance, "he will find accommodations which, while far
from befitting your Excellency's dignity, are, unfortunately, the best
at our command."
Neil accepted the invitation silently, and entering the doorway, found
himself in a well-lighted room wherein a table was set for supper. The
others followed, Cowan grinning from ear to ear in anticipation of the
victim's discomfiture. In his eagerness he was the first to catch sight
of Neil's face. With a howl of surprise he sprang back, almost
upsetting Baker.
"What's the matter with you?" cried the latter. Cowan made no answer,
but stared stupidly at Neil.
"Eh? What?" Baker sprang forward and wheeled their victim into the
light. Neil turned and faced them smilingly. The four stared in
bewilderment. It was Baker who first found words.
"_Well, I'll--be--hanged_!" he murmured.
Neil turned placidly to the discomfited Cowan.
"You see, Cowan," he said sweetly, "one against a hundred isn't such big
odds, after all, is it?"