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The man was silent.
“You were deserted by your pals and left to die alone by the roadside. I have taken trouble to have you brought here, and I’ve sent for a doctor. In return for this will you not tell me the one thing I want to know? Where has Bunol taken Zenas Gunn?”
The injured man’s lips parted, an expression of great effort and distress came into his eyes, but the only sounds he uttered were a few painful gasps.
“Can’t you speak?” asked Dick.
Again that faint rocking motion of the head from side to side.
“I don’t opine he’ll ever speak again, pard,” whispered Buckhart, in Dick’s ear. “He’s done for, and we’re wasting time in trying to get anything out of him.”
“It’s folly to attempt to search the country blindly to-night,” said Dick. “Unless Durbin can give us a clue, we have nothing to work on.”
Brad looked desperate.
“All right,” he muttered. “You know best, partner. I opine I’d better trust the whole thing to you.”
“Give me that whisky, Mr. Swinton,” requested Dick.
The liquor had been weakened with water in a cup, and the boy again held this out to Durbin’s lips. A little of the stuff passed into the man’s mouth, and he swallowed it with great difficulty.
“Now,” once more urged Dick, “try to tell me where they have taken Professor Gunn.”
The man’s lips moved again. Dick bent low over him, holding his ear down to listen, but he could catch no word, and the fear that Durbin would die without speaking grew upon him.
Looking straight into the pathetic eyes of the injured man, Dick said, in a tone of confidence and command:
“I will give you the power to speak. You shall speak! You can speak! Tell me at once where they have taken the professor.”
For a moment there was absolute silence in the room. Both Buckhart and Swinton watched, breathless and awed, feeling that in some singular manner the boy was transmitting some strength of his own to the man on the bed. They felt as if something like a miracle was about to take place.
Finally Durbin’s lips parted again, and, in a low yet perfectly distinct tone, he muttered three words:
“The – haunted – mill!”
CHAPTER XV. – THE HAUNTED MILL
A branch of the Meden runs through the northwestern portion of that region still known as Sherwood Forest. At one time all that country was covered with one great, dense forest, but now there are many pieces of woods and a great deal of cleared country, with beautiful cottages and winding roads.
In a little, wooded valley stands an old, deserted mill. The broken water wheel is still and covered with rank moss and slime. The mill has settled on one side until it threatens to topple into the little basin above the almost vanished dam. It seems to cling to the old-fashioned stone chimney in a pitiful way for support.
This is known as the “Haunted Mill of the Meden,” and tourists travel far to see it. Hundreds of artists have daubed its semblance on their canvases.
Years ago, it is said, the miller, crazed by solitude or something, murdered his beautiful daughter in the old mill and then committed suicide. The people of that region tell that the ghosts of both father and daughter visit the old mill nightly at the hour when the crime was committed, which was shortly after midnight.
The haunted mill stands about eight English miles from Robin Hood’s Tavern.
A cold moon had risen in the east, and it was near the hour when the ghosts of the old mill were supposed to walk.
At least half a mile from the mill three horsemen had halted. They were Dick Merriwell, Brad Buckhart, and Swinton, the keeper of Robin Hood’s Tavern.
Not only had the landlord’s demands been fully satisfied and appeased by Dick, but he had been induced by the payment of a liberal sum to guide the boys to the haunted mill.
“You can’t miss it,” he declared in a low tone. “It’s straight down this road in the wood yonder.”
“But aren’t you coming with us?” asked Brad.
“Ten pounds wouldn’t take me nearer the mill at this hour,” said the landlord. “I’ve kept my part of the agreement; I have guided you to it.”
“Let him remain here,” said Dick, “and take care of the horses. We’ll go alone, Brad. We must leave the horses, for we do not wish to give Bunol warning that we are coming, and he might hear the animals.”
“Mebbe that’s a right good idea,” nodded the Texan. “I don’t opine a man as scared as he is would be any good with us.”
So the horses were left with the landlord, who promised to remain and guard them until the boys returned.
“If you ever do return,” he added. “It seems to me as likely as not that I’ll never clap eyes on you again.”
“I hope you don’t think we’re going to run away?” exclaimed Dick.
“No, but I do think it likely you’ll run into plenty of trouble, considering the things those men did at my place. I don’t see why you do not wait until morning and gather a force to aid you. It’s the only sensible thing. What can two boys do against such ruffians!”
“We’re not the kind that waits a great deal,” said Buckhart. “I sure reckon you’ll find out what we can do, and the ruffians will find out, too.”
Both boys were armed. They lost no time in hastening along the road that led in to the dark woods which choked the little valley. It demanded plenty of courage for those two American lads to attempt such an undertaking in a strange country at such an hour, and under such circumstances; but Dick and Brad had the courage, and they did not falter.
The woods were dark and silent, and filled with many black shadows, although in spots moonlight sifted through the openings amid the trees.
Stepping cautiously and keeping constantly on the alert, the boys followed the winding road down into the valley, avoiding the patches of moonlight.
Finally a faint murmuring sound of water reached their ears. It came from the little stream that trickled over the broken dam.
A few moments later the boys saw the dark and forbidding outlines of the old mill. All about the mill reigned a stillness like death, broken only by the almost inaudible sound of trickling water.
“It sure doesn’t seem like there is much of anything doing here,” whispered Buckhart. “I hope we haven’t arrived too late, pard.”
“The only way to find out about that is to investigate,” returned Dick, in the same cautious tone.
They approached the mill, circling a last spot where the moonlight shone down through the trees.
True, their hearts were beating faster than usual in their bosoms, but they were fully as undaunted as when they had set out from Robin Hood’s Tavern.
The old mill was reached at last, and they listened as they stood close beside its rotting wall.
No sound came from within.
“Have you the candles, Dick?” asked the Texan.
“Sure,” was the assurance. “But we’ll not use them until we get inside.”
They tried the door, but it was fastened, and after a few moments they decided that it could not be opened from the outside unless the person who attempted it knew how.
“We’ll have to find a window that will let us in,” said Dick, in a whisper.
Fortunately, they had little difficulty about this, for the windows of the mill were broken, and, although they had been boarded up, the boards were torn away from one of them. This window was high, but Dick mounted on Buckhart’s shoulders and crept through it. Then he leaned far out and grasped the hands of the Texan, who followed him, but made more or less noise in scrambling up and over the sill.
“Hush!” warned Dick. “We’ll listen here a while to see if we have disturbed any one.”
The silence within the place was even more oppressive than that of the dark woods outside.
“I sure am afraid we’re on a Tom Fool’s errand, partner,” murmured Buckhart. “I’m almost ready to bet my boots that, besides ourselves, there’s no living thing in this thundering old building.”
“You may be right,” Dick admitted; “but we’ll search it from top to bottom before we quit. I hate to think that, in the face of almost certain death, Luke Durbin lied to me.”
“Mebbe he didn’t lie; mebbe Bunol changed his plan after that runaway and smash-up.”
“Perhaps so.”
“Light a candle, pard.”
“Not yet. We’ll prowl round a little first. Take care not to step into a hole or trap of any sort.”
They moved forward with the utmost caution, feeling their way along in the darkness. Soon they found a door that was standing wide open and passed into a sort of hall, beyond which another door opened into another part of the building, which Dick believed was the mill proper.
In spite of their caution, they had made some slight noises, Brad once striking the toe of his boot against some obstacle.
As they paused there in irresolution, something of a startling nature took place.
First through the empty hallowness of the vacant rooms echoed a groan that was most dismal and nerve-trying.
This sound was followed almost instantly by a shrill, piercing shriek, like that which might be uttered by some one in the agony of death!
Buckhart afterward confessed that his hair “certain rose up on its hind legs and mighty nigh kicked his hat off.”
No wonder.
Such appalling sounds breaking in on the absolute silence of the place were enough to give a man of iron something more than a slight start.
The sounds died out as suddenly as they had broken forth, and the stillness that followed was disturbed only by the tumultuous beating of the hearts of the two boys.
Brad clutched Dick’s arm.
“Great everlasting tornadoes!” groaned the Texan. “That sure was letting it out some!”
“Just a little!” admitted Dick.
It did not take the boys long to recover from the shock, which was followed by a feeling of resentment, for both knew some one had sought to frighten them in that manner.
Neither of them believed in ghosts.
“Wherever did it come from, pard?” asked Buckhart, softly – “upstairs or down?”
Dick was compelled to confess that he did not know. The groan and the shriek had echoed through the empty rooms in a most deceptive manner.
By this time both lads had their revolvers ready for use.
They remained perfectly still for many minutes, listening for some new sound to guide them. Although they were wonderfully courageous, they knew they might be plunging into a deadly trap, and neither cared about throwing his life away.
Still they had come there for the purpose of trying to rescue Professor Gunn, and they did not propose to retire without doing their best to accomplish their design.
Finally they decided to investigate the upper portion of the mill, and on their hands and knees they crept up the stairs. They knew not what moment they might be attacked, and when they reached the top of the flight they more than half expected to be set upon without further delay.
After the startling sounds which had chilled and appalled them for a few moments, there was no further demonstration, and the deathlike silence of the place placed another strain upon their nerves, which seemed to grow more and more severe. Finally they felt that they would gladly welcome a noise of some sort.
The moonlight reached some of the upper windows of the building now, and it assisted them in exploring a portion of that floor. But though they went from room to room, they found up there no sign of any living thing.
“This is a whole lot disappointing, partner,” breathed the Texan. “There is nothing doing up here.”
“Evidently not,” admitted Dick. “Let’s go down. We have not half investigated the rooms below.”
They still believed it quite probable they would be attacked while in the old mill, but neither faltered. Down the stairs they went, and Dick led the way into that part of the building that had once been the mill proper.
Suddenly he stopped in the dark and put out his hand, checking Brad.
“Don’t move!” he warned.
“What’s the matter?”
Dick had heard the sound of running water rising from almost directly beneath his feet, and a cold breath of air came up and smote him in the face.
“Keep your revolver ready for use,” he said. “I’m going to light a candle.”
A moment later he struck a match and soon lighted a candle, which he had brought in his pocket, wrapped in a paper.
The light thus provided showed the boys that it was a fortunate thing that Dick had halted just as he did. Barely a step before him the flooring had rotted and fallen away, leaving a great opening down to the bed of the stream below.
“I’ll keep this candle going now,” decided Dick.
The investigation of that portion of the mill did not consume much time, and it was productive of nothing but disappointment.
“It’s a whole lot singular!” growled the Texan. “Partner, we know somebody was here a short time ago, for we heard the galoot groan and yell.”
“There must still be a part of the building we have not searched,” said Dick.
There was. They found a door leading from the hall into a short and narrow passage, which was blocked by still another door. The second door was securely fastened.
Their efforts to open it in an ordinary manner were wasted; but while they sought to do so they were surprised and interested to hear a strange thumping sound issuing from some part of the building just beyond that very door.
As they paused to speculate concerning the meaning of that thumping, another startling and disagreeable thing happened.
In the hall behind them there was a flash, and the loud and deafening report of a pistol smote upon their ears. At the same instant a bullet clipped past Dick’s ear and struck the candle in his hand, cutting it off close to the top and extinguishing it.
Buckhart turned in a twinkling and answered the shot by firing blindly back into the hall.
The flash of his pistol blinded Brad, but Dick – who had also wheeled and was slightly to one side – plainly saw a man spring through a doorway and vanish from view.
Once more snatching out his own revolver and warning Buckhart against shooting him by mistake, Merriwell darted back into that hall and followed the man through the doorway.
He discerned a dark figure just slipping out through the very window by which the two boys had entered the mill.
Although he was tempted to fire on the fleeing man, Dick restrained the impulse, permitting the unknown to escape.
“He’s gone,” he explained, in answer to the eager questions of the Texan, who had followed closely. “Let him go. I’m for finding out as soon as possible the meaning of the thumping sounds we heard beyond that immovable door. Let’s look for something with which we may batter down the door.”
In the mill section of the building they discovered a huge, rusty hammer, and with this they returned and attacked the door, Dick having relighted his candle.
The sturdy Texan begged the privilege of smashing the door, and the old building resounded with the concussions of his blows. In a few moments he had beaten the door until it was split and ready to give way. A sort of fury seemed to possess him, and he soon smashed his way through the door and into the small room beyond.
Dick followed with the candle, the light of which showed them a human figure lying on the floor before them.
It was Professor Gunn, bound tightly with ropes wound and knotted about him and gagged in a manner that prevented him from making any outcry. However, he had managed to thump the floor with his feet when he heard the boys outside the door, and now his eyes were filled with an expression of untold relief and joy.
Dick lost not a moment in producing a knife and slashing at the cords which held the old man helpless. At the same time Brad removed the gag.
“Thank God!” mumbled Zenas weakly.
When they had freed him, he was unable to rise, so they lifted him between them and aided him from the room. Reaching the window by which they had entered, Brad sprang out, and Dick assisted Zenas in getting over the sill and lowering himself into the strong arms of the Texan.
Then Merriwell sprang out, drawing a deep breath of relief, for, regardless of the flight of the man who had fired the shot that extinguished the candle, he had feared another attack until all were clear of the building.
“Boys,” half sobbed the old professor, “I knew you would come! I knew you would rescue me somehow! But it seems as if I have been in the power of those villains for ages.”
“Where is Bunol?” asked Dick.
“Gone.”
“Gone where?”
“He was here when they brought me to the place. He compelled me to tell him where he could find Nadia Budthorne, then he left me, with a single man to guard me until morning. With the coming of daylight the man was to get away, and I might have remained there until I perished from hunger or exhaustion if you had not come to my rescue. Oh, boys, you are jewels! You are the bravest, finest chaps in the world!”
“Bunol knows!” said Buckhart hoarsely. “He accomplished his purpose!”
“But we’ll baffle him!” cried Dick. “We’ll send a warning to the Budthornes the first thing in the morning, and then – then away for Naples.”
CHAPTER XVI. – SUNSET ON THE GRAND CANAL
Venice, and sunset on the Grand Canal!
Nowhere else in all the world is there such a sight. For two miles this magnificent waterway; the main thoroughfare of the most wonderful city in the world, winds in graceful curves, with red-tiled, creamy white palaces on either hand. At all times it is a source of wonder and delight to the visitor, but at sunset and in the gathering purple twilight it is the most entrancing.
So thought Dick Merriwell, as he lay amid the piled-up cushions of a gondola that was propelled by a gracefully swaying, picturesquely dressed gondolier, one beautiful evening.
Brad Buckhart and Professor Gunn were in the gondola with Dick, and they, also, were enchanted and enraptured with the scene.
The mellow rays of the sinking sun touched the shimmering surface of the water, shone on the windows of the palaces, gleamed on the hanging balconies of marble, and made the Bridge of the Rialto seem like an ivory arch against the amber-turquoise sky.
There were many other gondolas moving silently along here, there, everywhere. On this great thoroughfare there was no rumble and roar of traffic. It was a street of soft silence, as Venice is the City of Silence.
“In a short time, boys,” said the old professor, in a modulated voice, that seemed softened by the influence of his surroundings, “you shall see Venice at her best, for the moon will rise round and full. When you have seen Venice by moonlight, you may truthfully say you have beheld the most beautiful spectacle this world can show you.”
“She ain’t so almighty bad by sunlight,” observed Buckhart.
“Ah, but time has worked its ravages upon her,” sighed Zenas sadly. “Once even the dazzling sun of midday could show no flaw in her beauty, but now it reveals the fact that, although she is still charming, her face is pathetically wrinkled. Ah! those splendid days of old – those days of her magnificence and grandeur – gone, gone forever!”
In truth, Zenas was profoundly moved as he thought of the past greatness and present state of this City of the Sea.
Still Dick remained silent. He was watching the sunset. Between him and the western sky seemed falling a shower of powdered gold, and yet this wonderful, golden light was perfectly transparent. Beneath the balconies and in the narrower canals the shadows were growing deeper. Just then Dick thought that, no matter what disaster, what suffering, what sorrow might come to him in life, just to be there in Venice that night at sunset was joy and pleasure and reward enough to overbalance all else.
“Pard, are you dreaming?”
Dick turned his eyes toward the loyal Texan without moving his head.
“Yes, yes – dreaming,” he murmured.
“Of what?”
“Like the professor, of the old days – of the founding of this wonderful city by a mere handful of refugees, who fled before the devastating, barbarian army of Attila, well named the ‘Scourge of God.’ How little could they have dreamed – those terror-stricken refugees – of the wonderful future of this city of a hundred islands! I am dreaming of Venice at the height of her glory, of the power of the Doges, of the senators in their splendid robes, of battles and conquests, of riches and splendor, of pompous pageants, of Ascension Day, when amid the roar of cannon, the shouts of the people, and the throb of music, the Doge in his barge of gold flung a golden ring into the blue waves, announcing the wedding of Venice and the sea. Yes, I am dreaming – dreaming!”
“And while you dream, pard,” said Brad, “dream some of the dark deeds, the crimes, the Bridge of Sighs, the Council of Ten – ”
A strange, half-startled exclamation came from the gondolier. He had paused, clutching his oar, leaning forward – apparently paying attention to their words for the first time. He could speak a little English, but Professor Gunn addressed him in Italian:
“What’s the matter, Reggio?”
“The boys, signor.”
“What of them?”
“They talk too much. It is not well. They should be more careful.”
“Careful? I do not understand you, Reggio. Why should they be careful?”
“I hear them speak of the Ten,” whispered Reggio, leaning forward. “It is very dangerous, signor. Nothing should be spoken.”
“Still I do not understand you,” persisted the amazed old pedagogue. “The time of the Council of Ten is past forever. There is now no longer danger that a citizen of Venice may be secretly denounced to the council, secretly tried and secretly executed. We know that at one time the despotism of this council was so great that even the Doge himself became a mere instrument in the hands of that body of tyrants. Now, however, there is no council – ”
The agitation of Reggio had increased as Gunn was speaking, until now it became absolutely painful to behold. He was trembling violently, and with shaking hand he entreated the old man to be silent.
“You know not, signor – you know not!” he whispered. “Beware what you say! If you continue to talk, I must decline to carry you in my gondola – you and the boys. We must part. I am a poor man. I need the money you pay me for my services. But most I need my life, not for myself alone, but for Teresa, my sister.”
“Man,” said Zenas, “you must be crazy! What harm could speaking of – ”
“I pray you no more, signor – no more!”
“Well, wouldn’t that beat you!” said Buckhart, who understood a little Italian, and had succeeded in getting the drift of the talk. “What do you think of it, pard?”
“I do not know what to think,” confessed Dick, quite as much surprised and bewildered as Professor Gunn. “It is most remarkable. The man seems frightened. He actually pretends that we may place his life in peril by our words.”
“It may be some kind of a trick, Dick.”
“What kind of a trick can it be?”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure watching out constant for tricks by these dagoes. They’re a slippery set, and they seem to think travelers are fair and legitimate game for plucking.”
“Not all of them, Brad.”
“No, not all; but you know Naples is called ‘the city of thieves,’ and we certain found it that. This fellow has appeared a heap decent, and – ”
“Just so. I’ve taken a liking to him. He’s positively handsome, and he seems honest. I’ve urged the professor to retain him while we remain in Venice. But now – ”
“We can’t even discuss the history of the city in his presence.”
All effort to induce Reggio to explain proved unavailing. He declined to explain, and he continued to urge them – in whispers – to talk of something else.
“I suppose we had better humor him,” said Gunn. “I can’t understand it, but just to please him we’ll drop it now.”
“I sure judge he has a streak of the daffy in him,” nodded Brad.
The silver moon rose wondrously fair. The evening was cool, still not cold. The professor and the boys drew some wraps about their shoulders, having come prepared for the change in the atmosphere.
In the moving gondolas lights began to twinkle and gleam. Soft laughter floated over the water.
Reggio’s oar moved silently in the water, and the gondola glided through alternating patches of moonlight and shadow, glory and gloom.
Beneath the moon, Venice was indeed at her best. The defects of age, seen in the broad light of day, were now hidden by a silver veil. In places lights gleamed through the casements.
“Pard,” said Buckhart, after a long silence, “I’m a whole lot glad you were expelled from Fardale!”
“What’s that?” exclaimed Dick, surprised. “Glad I was expelled?”
“Sure!” nodded the Texan grimly. “If you hadn’t been expelled, we’d not be here together now.”
“That’s true enough.”
“Of course I’m plenty bitter on Chet Arlington, but I opine his day is coming. The professor will look out for that, all right. You’ll return to old Fardale in triumph after – ”
“We’ll return together, Brad.”
“Yes, we’ll return together – after we’ve seen a right good lot of this amazing old world, and I allow you’ll be received back with high acclaim. I can see it now. I can see big Bob, Obediah, Chip, Gardner, Darrel, Flint, Smart, and all the rest of them, welcoming you back. Just to think of it stirs me some, you bet! There’ll be something doing at Fardale that day, Dick – you hear me gently gurgle! Then back to the diamond, the gridiron, the gymnasium – back to all things we love! And the yarns we’ll have to tell! The things we’ll have seen! Whoop! I’m sure busting just to think of it!”
Professor Gunn, who had been listening to the words of the boys, now observed:
“Youth and anticipation of the glories of the future! Two of the most joyous things in this old world, boys. Do you know, I’m glad myself that Dick was expelled. Remarkable, eh? Astonishing and shameful confession, hey? Well, it’s the truth. Why am I glad? Because it brought me the companionship of you two lads, something I needed. Yes, I needed it. I’m a pretty old man, boys, and I find myself inclined to look backward instead of forward. Instead of thinking of the joys to come, I find I’m inclined to think of the pleasures past. Now, that’s bad – very bad. When a man gets to living in the past, he’s in his decline – he’s beginning to decay – he’s pretty near the end of the road. It’s natural for progress to constantly look forward. Looking backward means retrogression. You boys have seemed to arouse in me the looking-forward spirit which I needed. I, too, think of the future and the pleasures to come. Therefore you have done me no end of good. Hum! ha! Ha! hum! I hope I’ve not interfered with your enjoyment of this glorious night by my little lecture.”
“What’s the matter with Reggio?” questioned Dick in a low tone. “He still seems excited. He keeps looking back, and – Why does he send the gondola darting in here so suddenly?”
They had turned with a sudden swing from the broad canal to go speeding swiftly into a very dark and very narrow passage between high buildings.
“Why did you turn in here, Reggio?” demanded the professor, in Italian.
“Signor, it is best,” was the half-spoken, half-whispered answer. “Question me not, but trust me. Soon we will be again on the Grand Canal.”
“I certain believe the man is some bughouse,” said Buckhart. “He’s sure acting and talking a heap queer to-night.”
“I think he is perfectly trustworthy,” declared Dick; “and he’s the handsomest gondolier in all Venice.”
“You picked him out, pard, because he was handsome and graceful.”
“No; because I believed I could read honor and sincerity in his face. I believed he could be trusted.”
“If he’s daffy, he can’t be trusted to any great extent.”
Out of the canal they sped, Reggio’s body swaying rhythmically as he propelled the craft. He seemed almost feverish in his haste. Soon they swung again into another narrow channel, where it was very dark, Reggio turning his head to look round just as he did so. What he saw, if anything, caused him to increase his efforts.
They began to feel a touch of the almost fierce anxiety which had seized upon their gondolier. He seemed fleeing before something of which he was in mortal terror. In the moonlight, before they were sent rushing through this second dark channel, Dick had obtained a full view of the Italian’s face. It was pale and set, and his eyes seemed glowing with strange terror.
What thing was this from which Reggio fled like a hunted man? What peril pursued him, seen by him alone?
“Reggio!” spoke Dick.
“Silence! silence! silence!” implored the man at the oar.
“He sure has gone luny of a sudden!” whispered Brad. “There is no other explanation, pard.”
“I don’t like his behavior myself,” confessed the professor. “He’s getting me nervous. You know there are banded thieves in Venice, who prey on foreigners. Now – ”
“There can be no connection between Reggio’s singular conduct and the thieves of Venice,” said Dick impatiently. “If he intended to rob us, he would not first excite our suspicion by his behavior.”
“I judge that’s correct,” nodded the Texan. “I certain allow it’s just a plain case of daffy on Reggio’s part.”
Once more they glided out upon the moon-lighted surface of the Grand Canal, and the professor drew a deep breath of relief.
“This is good enough for us, Reggio,” he said. “You don’t have to take us through those dark alleys to amuse us.”
But the man addressed did not seem to hear. He swung the craft into the shadow of the palaces at one side of the canal, still sending it forward with unusual speed. Other gondolas he avoided or passed with great skill. It was evident they attracted more or less attention by their surprising haste at that hour.
“I think, boys,” said Zenas Gunn, “that it might be well for us to return to our rooms and dismiss Reggio.”
But Dick’s interest and curiosity had been aroused. Behind the peculiar behavior of the man he believed there was something worth understanding. He scented a mystery, and mysteries always aroused and interested him.
“I couldn’t think of giving up this pleasure in the open air for our gloomy old rooms,” he said.
“Nor I, pard,” joined in Brad. “I slept a whole lot this forenoon, so that I’d not be at all sleepy to-night. Night certain is the time to enjoy Venice. I opine I’ll get into bad habits about hours while we’re here; but I can’t help it.”
“You boys are tyrants!” exclaimed the professor. “Who is the master here, may I ask? Am I taking you round, or are you taking me round?”
