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?”

CHAPTER IX

THE BROKEN TRICYCLE

As soon as Livingston heard the kidnapers staggering down-stairs with their burden he unlocked the bed-room door and stole to the window.  He saw Neil, his head hidden by the carriage robe, thrust into the hack and driven away, and saw the conspirators for whom the vehicle afforded no room separate and disappear in the gathering darkness.  Livingston’s emotions were varied:  admiration for Neil’s harebrained but successful ruse, distaste for the sorry part taken by himself in the affair, and amusement over the coming amazement and discomfiture of the enemy were mingled.  In the end delight in the frustration of the sophomores’ plan gained the ascendency, and he resolved that although Neil would miss the freshman dinner he should have it made up to him.