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tug fell back a step, and said, with all the calmness he could muster:
i guess you fellows are in the wrong room.
nope; weve come for you, was the answer of the first masker, who
spoke in a disguised voice.
tug looked as resolutely as he could into the eyes behind the mask,
and asked rather nervously a question whose answer he could have as
easily given himself:
well, now that youre here, what do you want?
again the disguised voice came deeply from the somber-robed leader:
oh, we just want to have a little fun with you.
well, i dont want to have any fun with you, parleyed tug, trying to
oh, it doesnt make any difference whether you want to come or not;
this isnt your picnicits ours, was the cheery response of the
first ghost; and the other black crows fairly cawed with delight.
still tug argued: what right have you men got to come into my room
without being invited?
its just a little surprise-party weve planned.
well, im not feeling like entertaining any surprise-party to-night.
oh, that doesnt make any difference to us. again the black flock
flapped its wings and cawed.
and now tug, as usual, lost his temper when he saw they were making a
guy of him, and he blurted fiercely:
get out of here, all of you!
then the crowd laughed uproariously at him.
and this made him still more furious, and though they were ten to one,
tug flung himself at them without fear or hesitation. when five of
them fell on him at once, he dragged them round the room as if they
were football-players trying to down him; but the odds were too great,
and before long they overpowered him and tied his wrists behind him;
not without difficulty, for tug had the slipperiness of an eel, along
with the strength of a young shark. when they had him well bound, and
his legs tethered so that he could take only very short steps, they
lifted him to his feet.
i think wed better gag him, said the leader of the crows; and he,
produced a stout handkerchief. but tug gave him one contemptuous look,
do you suppose im a cry-baby? im not going to call for help.
there was something in his tone that convinced the captain of the
a detachment was now sent to scurry through the dormitory and see if
it could find any other lakerimmers. this squad finally came down the
stairs, the biggest one of the crows carrying little history under
his arm. history was waving his arms and legs about as if he were a
tarantula, but the big black crow held him tight and kept one hand
over the boys mouth so that he could not scream.
then tug began to struggle furiously again, and to resist their
efforts to drag him out of the room. he could easily have raised a cry
that would have brought a professor to his rescue and scattered his
persecutors like sparrows; but his boyish idea of honor put that
rescue out of his reach, and he fought like a dumb man, with only such
occasional grunts as his struggle tore from him.
he might have been fighting them yet, for all i know, had not history
twisted his mouth from under the hand of his captor and threatenedhe
had not breath enough left to call for help:
ifyoudont let me goill_tell_ on you.
the very thought of this smallness horrified tug so much that he
stopped struggling, and turned his head to implore history not to
disgrace lakerim by being a tattler. the crows saw their chance, and
while tugs attention was occupied one of them threw a loosely woven
sack over his head and drew it down about his neck. then they started
once more on the march, history scratching and kicking in all
directions and doing very little harm, while tug, with his hands tied
behind him and his head first in a noose, used his only weapons, his
shoulders, with the fury of a spanish bull. and before they got him
through the door he had nearly disabled three of his assailants,
making one of them bite his tongue in a manner most uncomfortable. and
the room looked as if a young cyclone had been testing its muscles
the crows hustled the lakerimmers out without any unnecessary
tenderness, forgetting to close the door after them. out of the hall
and across the board walk, on to the soft, frosty grass where the
sound of their scuffling feet would not betray them, they jostled
their way. tug soon decided that the best thing for him to do was to
reserve his strength; so he ceased to resist, and followed meekly
where they led. they whirled him round on his heel several times to
confuse him as to the direction they took, then they hurried him
through the dark woods of a neglected corner of the campus. history
simply refused to go on his own feet, and they had to carry him most
of the way, and found only partial revenge in pinching his spidery
legs and bumping his head into occasional trees.
the two boys knew when they left the campus by the fact that they were
bundled and boosted over a stone wall and across a road.
history, as he stumbled along at. tugs side, at length came to
himself enough to be reminded of the way the ancient romans used to
treat such captives as were brought back in triumph by their generals.
but tug did not care to hear about the troubles of the gaulshe had
troubles of his own.
once they paused and heard a mysterious whispering among the crows,
who left them standing alone and withdrew a little distance. history
was afraid to move in the dark, for fear that he might step out of the
frying-pan into the fire; but tug, always ready to take even the most
desperate chance, thought, he would make a bolt for it. he put one
foot forward as a starter, but found no ground in front of him.
he felt about cautiously with his toe, and discovered that he was
standing at the brink of a ledge. how deep the ravine in front of him
was, he could only imagine, and in spite of his courage he shivered
at the thought of what he might have done had he followed his first
impulse and made a dash. there are pleasanter things on a dark night
than standing with eyes blindfolded and hands bound on the edge of an
unknown embankment. as he waited, the weakening effect of the struggle
and the mysterious terrors of the darkness told on his nerves, and he
shivered a bit in spite of his clenched teeth. then he overheard the
voices of the crows, and one of them was saying:
aw, go on, shove him over.
another protested: but it might break his neck, and its sure to
fracture a bone or two.
well, what of it? he nearly broke my jaw.
then tug heard more excited whispering and what sounded like a
struggle, and suddenly he heard some one rushing toward him; he felt a
sharp blow and a shove from behind, and was launched over the brink of
the ledge. ill not pretend that he wasnt about as badly scared as
time would allow.
but there was barely space for one lightning stroke of wild regret
that his glad athletic days were over and he was to be at least a
cripple, if he lived at all, when the ground rose up and smote him
much quicker even than he had expected. as he sprawled awkwardly and
realized that he had hardly been even bruised, he felt a sense of rage
at himself for having been taken in by the old hazing joke, and a
greater rage at the men who had brought on him what was to him the
greatest disgrace of alla feeling of fear. he had just time to
make up his mind to take this joke out of the hides of some of his
tormentors, if it took him all winter, when he heard above him the
sound of a short, sharp scuffle with history, who was pleading for
dear life, and who came flying over the ledge with a shrill scream of
terror, and plumped on the ground half an inch from tugs head