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