As soon as the grounds of the academy were left behind, the members of the club were formed into a regular company and made to march like so many soldiers towards Rockville. No explanations were offered to those not in the secret, but the treasurer, called the Lord of the Money Sack, made each individual hand over his twenty-six cents.
Half the distance to Rockville was covered when the party turned down a hill to a lonely country road, upon which ran the trolley line which connected Rockville, Bendham, Pitt's Corners, and several other places. This trolley had been built about two years. It did not pay very well, and no cars were run upon it from midnight until six in the morning.
Coming to a certain point on the line, the crowd was halted, and the leader looked at his watch.
"Where's the ride?" queried Roger, for no trolley car was in sight.
He had scarcely spoken when a car came slowly into sight, decorated with flags and strips of bunting. Nobody but an old motorman was in sight.
"Here she is! All aboard, fellows!" was the cry, and without ceremony the club members climbed into the car. Then two of them, who wore masks, called to the motorman.
"What's wanted?" asked the old man.
"Hot box, I guess," said one of the masked boys. "Just look here."
