"I will, yes, sir," was the answer, and the big car did make better time, for it was on a good road. The team fell to laughing and joking again, but suddenly stopped, as the auto once more came to a halt just before crossing Pendleton river, a stream somewhat larger than Sunny river, and intercepting the main road between the two colleges. "What's up now?" asked Tom. "The drawbridge is open," replied the chauffeur. The players stood up and looked across the river. The draw, which was necessary on account of a number of sailboats on the stream, was swung, making an impassable gap, for the stream at that point was swift and deep. Some men were seen on the middle of the bridge. "What's the matter? Why don't you swing shut that bridge?" yelled Phil. "Can't," answered one of the men. "Why not?" "The machinery that operates the draw is broken. We swung the bridge open to let a boat pass, and now we can't close it again. We've sent for some mechanics to repair it." "How long will it take?" yelled Tom. "Oh, not long. Two or three hours, maybe." "Two or three hours! Great smokestacks!" howled Tom. "That will be too late for us. We can't get to the game on time!" "Of course not!" agreed Holly Cross. "And Boxer Hall will be just mean enough to call a forfeit, and claim the championship!" "Say, you've got to swing this bridge shut, and let us pass!" sung out Phil. "Can't!" yelled the men who were on the bridge, marooned as it were. "We've tried, but it won't budge." "What's to be done?" asked Jerry Jackson. "Yes, what's to be done?" echoed his twin brother. "Guess we'll have to swim for it," suggested Dutch Housenlager. "That is, unless Grasshopper Backus can jump over with us on his back, one at a time." But, though they could joke over the situation, they all knew that it was serious. The time was drawing close, and they were still some distance from Boxer Hall. Further inquiry of the men on the bridge did not help matters, nor did the fuming and fretting of Tom and his chums. "Can't you suggest a plan?" asked Mr. Leighton of the chauffeur. "Well, there's another bridge about five miles below here." "That's too far. Ten miles out of our way. Time we went there, and got back it would be too late. Boxer Hall would claim the game. Can nothing be done?" and the coach looked at the swiftly swirling river. At that moment a man driving a mule hitched to a buckboard came along. He took in the situation at a glance. "Stuck, eh?" he remarked sympathetically. "That's what," replied Bricktop Molloy. "Maybe ye happen t' be a fairy, Mr. Man, an' can help us across." "Why don't you try the ford?" asked the man. "Ford? We didn't know there was one," said Tom. "Sure there is. About half a mile below here. It's where the river is shallow, and many's the time I've driven across before this bridge was built. The water's a leetle high now, but I guess your ark could make it. Will it go in water?"