“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.