KIDNAPPED!
“Well, our station’s next,” said Bob some forty minutes later. “Better
change your mind, Harmon, and get off with us.”
Harmon answered his laugh and shook his head. “I’d like to, but I’m
booked up the line. Is Lakeville the next stop?”
“Second after Alton,” answered Joe as he lifted the suitcases from
the rack and handed them to Bob. “Look us up when you come over with
the team some time. You’ll find Newhall and me in Lykes and Proctor
in Haylow.” There was a warning blast from the locomotive and the
train came slowly to a stop. The three Altonians shook hands with
Harmon, taking, as it seemed, much time in the ceremony. Outside, on
the station platform, a score or more of boys were hurrying toward the
carriage stand. Bob had encumbered himself with Joe’s bag and his own
and it was he who led the way to the door at last, Martin following
with his suitcase and Joe still making his farewell to Harmon. Then the
cry of “All aboard!” came and Joe gave Harmon’s hand a final clasp,
picked up the kit-bag and fled down the aisle.
For a brief instant Harmon thought his sight had tricked him, but a
swift glance showed that his bag was missing and in another instant
he was on his feet and calling to Joe. “Hold on there! that’s my
bag you’ve got!” he shouted. But Joe evidently didn’t hear, for he
was through the door and down the steps before Harmon started after
him. When Harmon reached the car platform Joe and his two companions
were fifty feet distant, seeking a conveyance. The train was still
motionless, although, further back, a trainman was holding his hand
aloft. There was but one thing to do and Harmon did it. In an instant
he was pushing his way through the luggage-laden throng about the
carriages.
“You’ve got my bag, Myers,” he announced breathlessly as he laid hands
on it.
Joe looked around in surprise, still holding tight to the bag. “What
did you say?” he asked blankly.
Harmon tugged desperately. “My bag! Let go, will you? I’ll lose my
train!”
Joe looked at the bag. “Well, what do you know?” he gasped. “By Jove,
I _am_ sorry, Harmon! I thought it was mine! Who’s got my bag? Here!”
He thrust the bag at Harmon so energetically that the latter failed to
grasp it. “Better hurry, old man! Your train’s going!”
“Thanks!” Harmon turned and started back. He would doubtlessly have
swung himself to the platform of the rear car had it not been for Bob’s
awkwardness. Bob was terribly sorry and apologetic about it afterwards!
Just as Harmon was free of the group, a clear path across the station
platform before him, Bob stepped directly in front of him! Of course
you know what happened then. Harmon dodged to the right and at the same
instant Bob stepped to the left, which didn’t better the situation the
least bit. Bob looked most embarrassed, and you could see that he felt
just like kicking himself. In fact, he assured them all afterwards that
he felt that way. But meanwhile he made the mistake of stepping back to
the right just as Harmon made a final despairing effort to get past him
on that side, and again they collided!
Harmon set his bag down then, smiled rather a sickly smile and watched
the train become smaller and smaller in the distance. Bob fairly
revelled in self-reproach and abjected himself to such an extent
that a heart of stone would have been moved to forgiveness. And as
Harmon’s heart wasn’t made of any such material he gave his attention
to assuring Bob that it didn’t really matter. Joe and Martin were most
regretful, and Joe tried to take all the blame. But Bob wouldn’t allow
that.
“No, if I hadn’t got in the way, like a blamed idiot, he’d have got it
all right,” he insisted. “You see, I thought he was coming over here
and so I stepped over there--like this--and he came the other way and I
tried to side-step him and--”
“It doesn’t matter a bit,” Harmon assured them, smiling quite
cheerfully now. “There’ll be another train pretty soon.”
“That’s so!” Evidently the idea hadn’t occurred to Bob before and he
welcomed it with enthusiasm. “Sure, there’s a train about six o’clock,
fellows!”
“Well, that’s nearly two hours,” said Joe. “Let’s put our bags inside
and find some seats. No use standing up all that time.”
“Oh, but you chaps needn’t wait around,” declared Harmon. “I wouldn’t
think of having you do that!”
The three looked at each other inquiringly. Then: “Can’t let you wait
around here all alone,” said Joe decidedly; “not after making you lose
your train like that. Bob, you and Martin go on up and take my bag
with you, and I’ll stay here.”
“Why not all go up?” asked Martin. “Harmon’s got nearly two hours to
wait. He might as well come along and be comfortable.”
“That’s the ticket!” exclaimed Bob. “Leave your bag here and ride up to
school with us, Harmon. We’ll show you around a bit and then we’ll go
up to my room or Joe’s and rest until about a quarter of an hour before
your train goes. And I’ll ride back with you!”
Harmon hesitated. “That’s very nice of you,” he said warmly, “but I
wouldn’t want to miss another one. Maybe I’d better just sit in the
station and--”
“You’d die of the heat down here in this hole,” said Joe. “Come on!
We’ll find out when the train is due, leave your bag with the agent and
beat it.”
Harmon allowed himself to be persuaded. After all, it was decidedly
warm there at the station, and an hour and fifty-one minutes--which
was what the agent made it--would be a long time to wait. And Joe
insisted on waiting with him, too, and that was the strongest argument
presented, for Joe and his friends had treated him mighty nicely
and Harmon felt that it would be a pretty low piece of business to
make any of them suffer. So off they all went presently in one of
the tumble-down, creaky carriages that still competed with the few
taxi-cabs at Alton, and Harmon proved himself a thoroughly good sport
by appearing to forget the regrettable incident and displaying much
interest in the town and, finally, the school.
The others pointed out all points of interest on the way: the
Congregational Church that had the tallest steeple in New England--none
of them could remember the exact figures, however--the Town Hall
and Library, the rival motion picture theaters, the Common with the
statue of Nathan Hale in the center--at least Bob and Martin thought
it was Nathan Hale and Joe was stoutly of the opinion that it was
Lafayette--the ornate residence of Alton’s richest and most influential
citizen, a brownstone monstrosity almost entirely surrounded by
conservatories from which a very few sun-baked ferns and palms peered
forth, and so on to the school entrance on Academy Street.
“On the left,” proclaimed Bob from the front seat, forming a megaphone
of his hands, “the modest dwelling is the Principal’s residence. Behind
it--you can see it now--is Haylow Hall. Next on the right you see
Lykes, especially interesting as the home of Mr. Robert Newhall, one
of Alton’s most prominent undergraduates. In the center of the row is
Academy Hall. Directly back of it, if you look quick, you will discern
Lawrence Hall. Lawrence is the most popular of all the buildings. It
contains the dining hall. Further to the right is Upton, and then
Borden. Behind Borden is the Carey Gymnasium. The building by itself at
the further end of the Green is Memorial Hall. We are now entering the
school grounds. Let me draw your attention to the German howitzer on
the left, and, on the right, one of our own 25’s. Both guns saw service
in the World War and were presented to the school--”
“Oh, dry up, Bob!” protested Joe. “Harmon will think you’re an idiot.”
“Reckon he thinks so already,” responded Bob sadly, “after the way I
acted at the station. Jimmy, you can dump us at Lykes.”
The driver of the vehicle nodded silently and turned to the left
in front of Academy Hall, from the steps of which a group of boys
shouted greetings, boisterous and even ribald, to the occupants of
the carriage. Harmon found himself wishing that he had been included
in that jovial and noisy welcome. This was his first sight of a
preparatory school and he liked what he saw and hoped that Kenly
would prove as attractive. Alton Academy occupied a tract of ground
on the edge of the town apparently two blocks square. From the wide,
well-shaded street the Green rose at a gentle grade to the row of brick
and limestone buildings that fronted it, a smooth expanse of fine turf
intersected by gravel roads and paths and shaded here and there by
giant elms. There was no fence nor wall and from a little distance the
Green seemed to run, right and left, into the flower-filled yards of
the houses across the side streets. There was something very dignified,
very lovely about the place, and the visitor’s heart warmed to it. He
wanted to ask if Kenly was like this, but incipient loyalty to the
school of his choice restrained him. Then the carriage pulled up at a
dormitory building and everyone piled out. There was a squabble between
Joe and Martin over who was to pay, Martin harking back to a similar
occasion last spring when he had paid the bill and Joe’s memory failing
him utterly. Harmon made a motion toward his pocket, but Bob edged him
toward the steps.
“Leave it to them,” he chuckled. “Mart always pays in the end.”
This statement was speedily proved true and Joe and Bob conducted
Harmon along the first floor corridor to the end of the building and
there opened a door and ushered him into a cool, shadowy study. Martin
had gone on to Haylow to dispose of his bag, but, before Harmon had got
well settled in a comfortable chair where the faint afternoon breeze
reached him from one of the windows, he was back.
They sat there awhile and talked. Once Joe and Bob absented themselves
on some casual excuse that took them out of the room, and once Martin
and Joe were gone for several minutes, but always one of the number was
left to entertain the visitor. Harmon liked the study and the small
alcove-bedroom that led from it and was much interested in the pictures
and trophies that adorned the walls and the tops of the chiffoniers.
Joe explained that his roommate, Don Harris, had not arrived and would
probably not get there until the next morning. Harris came from Ohio
and faculty allowed those who lived at a distance a day’s grace.
“I suppose you have to be at Kenly tonight, don’t you, Harmon?” he
asked.
“I believe so. I understand that school begins in the morning. What
time is it getting to be? I don’t want to miss that next train.”
“Oh, there’s an hour and twenty minutes yet,” said Bob. “How’d you like
to take a look around? It doesn’t seem quite so warm now.”
The visitor was agreeable to the suggestion and the quartette set
forth. They went first to Lawrence Hall and saw the big dining-room
that accommodated four hundred. The forty-odd tables were already
draped in white and set for supper, and, with the afternoon sunlight
slanting through the high windows, the silent hall looked very
pleasant. They climbed the stairs to the visitors’ gallery and then
descended other stairs and looked into the big kitchen through the oval
windows in the swinging doors. Then came the athletic field, where
several of the tennis courts were already in use, and Harmon heard
tales of hard-fought battles on gridiron and diamond and track, battles
that were invariably won by Alton. He wanted to ask if Kenly had never
scored a victory there, but he refrained.
They poked their heads into Upton and Borden Halls, the latter
dormitory reserved for the freshman students, and then crossed to the
gymnasium. Harmon could honestly and unaffectedly praise that, for
it was just about the last cry in buildings of its kind. He looked
longingly at the big swimming pool with its clear green water showing
the white tiled floor below, and Bob regretted that there wasn’t time
for a swim. Then came Memorial Hall, where the sunlight shone through
the many-hued windows and cast wonderful designs of red and blue
and gold and green on the marble tablets across the silent nave. The
library was here, a book-lined, galleried hall whose arched ceiling
was upheld by dark oak beams. Two great tables, each on a deep-crimson
rug, stood at either end, and many comfortable chairs surrounded them.
There was a stone fireplace with monstrous andirons, and the school
seal above it. Facing the corridor door, a clock, set in the gallery
railing, ticked loudly in the silence. Upstairs was the Auditorium on
one side of the corridor, a large, many-windowed hall with a platform
at one end, while, across from it, were four recitation rooms.
Outside again, they followed a path that took them under the shade of
the elms back to Academy Hall. There was not much time left now, and
after viewing the school offices from a respectful distance and peering
into some of the classrooms on the first and second floors, Joe decided
that their guest had better be thinking of getting back to the station.
“You mustn’t go, though, without seeing the view from the cupola,” he
added. “There’s plenty of time for that.”
Harmon looked doubtfully at his watch, but Joe was already leading the
way toward a narrow flight of stairs at the end of the second-floor
corridor and Bob had an urging grip on his shoulder.
“That’s right,” agreed Martin. “Everyone ought to see the view from the
cupola. It--it’s one of the sights!” Perhaps he meant to add further
persuasion, but a fit of coughing overtook him. Bob, over Harmon’s
head, scowled ferociously back at him.
The stairway ended at a closed door and the procession halted while
Joe shot back a heavy iron bolt and drew the portal outward. Then he
stepped politely aside and the visitor entered a small apartment some
eight feet square. It was quite bare and lighted by four tiny panes
set one in each wall and just under the ceiling. Harmon’s gaze went
questing for the stairs or ladder by which he was to reach the cupola,
but there was nothing of that sort in sight. Indeed, there was no
egress save by the door through which he had entered! He was on the
point of calling polite attention to the fact when a sound behind him
brought him quickly about. The sound had been made by the door as it
closed, and while he stared, open-mouthed, a second sound reached him,
and this time it was made by the bolt sliding harshly into place!