On Sunday morning Mr. Winslow, Mrs. Pelton――the housekeeper――Clif and Tom seated themselves in a small automobile of a rare vintage and rolled decorously to an ivy-covered church. Clif had Mrs. Pelton on his left and suffered a good deal when, he having found the hymn for her, she lifted her voice in song. He was heartily relieved when the sermon began. Sunday dinner was a somewhat solemn meal and certainly none too appetizing. Clif never had liked roast lamb much, anyway, and this particular roast had a “wooly” flavor which did nothing to increase his liking. The dinner accomplished one beneficent end, though; it sent Mr. Winslow to sleep in the parlor. With sighs of relief the boys let themselves out of the house and sallied forth in quest of adventure. They didn’t find adventure, but they had a good walk and returned to supper in better spirits. Tom rebelled against church in the evening, and his guardian, although disapproving, forebore to press the point and went off alone. Eventually bedtime came. Very early in the morning they started back to Freeburg. Clif wondered if he would ever again be so glad to return to school as he was to-day! CHAPTER IX “THE OLD WILL POWER” They reached school well before Loring. He didn’t return until nearly four, revealing that even a “Rolled Rice” can have tire troubles. After greetings and a few questions had been exchanged, Loring asked: “Look here, fellows, have you heard about Evans and Cox?” Clif shook his head, while Tom said: “Sounds like a good ticket. I’ll vote for ’em. Who are they?” Loring, though, was too much in earnest to appreciate persiflage. “Don’t you read the papers?” he demanded. “The _Times_ had it yesterday morning.” “Do you mean Stu Evans?” asked Clif. “Yes! He and Cox; Harold Cox, isn’t it? They got banged up over on Long Island Saturday afternoon. They were in Cox’s car, and a truck shoved them out of the road, and they went down into a ditch. Evans broke a couple of ribs, the paper said, and Cox got cut up sort of badly and hurt an arm!” “Gosh!” said Tom. “Cox is the fellow with the long neck and whitish hair, isn’t he? Say, that’s too bad.” “Have they come back?” asked Clif. “Here? No, indeed. They were taken to a hospital and then to Cox’s home. They won’t be back for a couple of weeks at least, I fancy.” “Too bad,” said Tom again, but he said it more slowly, and an expression of uneasiness came into his face. “That surely ought to put you on second,” said Clif. Tom nodded, but he looked troubled. “Look here,” he exclaimed, “I don’t like it! I wasn’t keen about that will power business when we started it, and after this I’m off it for life!” “But, Great Scott――” began Clif. “If it’s going to get fellows into trouble I’m through with it,” declared Tom emphatically. “But you don’t mean that you think _we_ had anything to do with it!” gasped Loring.