“Don’t worry about that,” laughed Dick. “Mr. Duncan says he’ll have a spread at the clubhouse.” “Then lul-lul-lul-let’s go!” cried Jolliby. “Yes, let’s go!” exclaimed the others. Thus it came about that Henry Duncan’s invitation was accepted and the boys left Rockford on the nine-o’clock car. They were in good spirits, every one of them, Buckhart having fully recovered his former condition. As the car passed Uriah Blackington’s office, the lawyer thrust his head out of the window and waved his hand at them, crying: “Do your best to-day, boys. We’ll take one off Seaslope, and if you beat Maplewood there’ll be fun the next time we meet.” It was a beautiful morning, and the boys sang and joked as the trolley car bore them toward the Maplewood hills. Perhaps two-thirds of the journey had been made when the car stopped to let a passenger off. It started up and proceeded slowly onto a curve of the track, where there was a high embankment on one side. Suddenly, without warning, the car left the track, but the motorman instantly shut off the power. They stopped with one corner of the car lurching over the embankment. Already some of the boys had leaped off, and there was a general scramble when the car stopped. “Pretty near a bad accident,” said Hodge, shaking his head. “Pretty near it!” exclaimed the pale-faced motorman. “I should say so! If I hadn’t stopped to let that passenger off, I should have been driving this car at usual speed round the curve here, and we must have gone down the embankment.” “I’d like to know how it happened, anyway,” declared the conductor. “There was no reason why we should jump the track. We were apparently creeping along.” Together with the motorman he made an examination, and in a few moments both men betrayed consternation and excitement. They called the passengers to look at one of the rails. “See here,” said the motorman, “this rail has been monkeyed with! It is loose. The rails are spread here. This was no accident! Some one did the job with the deliberate intention of running this car off the track!” “What do you think of that, Dick?” asked Hodge, in young Merriwell’s ear. “I may be mistaken,” muttered the boy; “but it looks to me like more of Benton Hammerswell’s work.” “But it doesn’t seem possible,” said Bart, shaking his head. “Why, many of us might have been killed had the car gone off this bank. It’s certain some of us would have been severely injured.” “In which case,” said Dick, “Maplewood would have had an easy thing this afternoon.” “It doesn’t seem possible,” continued Hodge; “that man Hammerswell must be a scoundrel of the worst type.” “Didn’t I tell you so?” “But he’s the limit! He’s not only a scoundrel, but he’s crazy to try such things.” “You can bet he had no direct hand in it himself. I believe he was the instructor, and some of his tools did the work.” There was a long delay, but finally a car from Maplewood picked up the passengers and carried them on to their destination.