n. "Hello! Get me Brimfield Academy at
Brimfield. This is Chief Carey. I want to talk with the president--"

"Principal, sir," whispered Amy.

"With the principal." A minute or two passed in silence. Then: "Hello,"
said the Chief. "Is this Brimfield Academy? Well, who am I talking to,
please? Mr. Ferner? Fernald?" He looked questioningly at Clint and Clint
nodded his head. "Well, this is the Chief of Police at Wharton. Have you
got two boys at your school named Clinton Thayer and Amory Byrd, Mr.
Fernald? Have, eh? Are they there now?... I see. Well, I guess I've got
them here.... No, no, nothing like that. There's been a robbery here and
the boys seem to think they have a clue to it. I wanted to find out if
they were all right. Yes, they're right here. Certainly, sir."

The Chief held out the telephone and Clint took it.

"Mr. Fernald? This is Thayer, sir. We're awfully sorry, sir, but we got
lost last night and had to sleep in a hut near here and we've only just
got here a little while ago. We are coming right back, sir."

"How did you happen to get lost?" asked the principal's voice.

Clint explained as best he could.

"Byrd is there with you?"

"Yes, sir. Do you want to speak to him?"

"No. Get back here as soon as you can and come and see me at once. I
want this explained a little better, Thayer. That's all. You're
not--um--you're not in trouble with the police?"

"No, sir."

"All right. Get back on the first train."

Clint sighed with relief as he returned the telephone to the desk.

"Was he very waxy?" asked Amy anxiously.

"Not very, I reckon," Clint replied. "He wants us to beat it back and
see him at once."

"I can scarcely restrain my eagerness," murmured Amy.

"What train were you thinking of taking?" asked the Chief, drawing the
telephone toward him again.

"They said there was one at nine-forty-six," replied Clint, "but
this--this officer says it doesn't stop at Brimfield."

"We'll soon find out, boys." The Chief consulted a time-table and
nodded. "Brimfield at ten-fifteen." He looked at the big clock on the
wall. "Seven-forty-five," he muttered. "I guess we can make it." He put
the receiver to his ear once more. "Operator? Wharton, 137-M, please.
Hello! That you, Gus? This is Dave Carey. Say, Gus, I want an auto to
hold five of us besides your driver. What say? Yes, right away. Well,
hunt him up. Get here by eight sure. At the station, yes. All right."
The Chief returned the receiver