“I’m sick of it!” he protested. “Sick of the whole thing. Here we are cooped up as helpless as a bunch of three-year-old orphans, and being taught what they think is necessary--whether we like it or not. Confound their old-maid impudence!” Nevertheless we were taught. They brought in a raised map of their country, beautifully made, and increased our knowledge of geographical terms; but when we inquired for information as to the country outside, they smilingly shook their heads. They brought pictures, not only the engravings in the books but colored studies of plants and trees and flowers and birds. They brought tools and various small objects--we had plenty of “material” in our school. If it had not been for Terry we would have been much more contented, but as the weeks ran into months he grew more and more irritable. “Don’t act like a bear with a sore head,” I begged him. “We’re getting on finely. Every day we can understand them better, and pretty soon we can make a reasonable plea to be let out--” “_Let_ out!” he stormed. “_Let_ out--like children kept after school. I want to Get Out, and I’m going to. I want to find the men of this place and fight!--or the girls--” “Guess it’s the girls you’re most interested in,” Jeff commented. “What are you going to fight _with_--your fists?” “Yes--or sticks and stones--I’d just like to!” And Terry squared off and tapped Jeff softly on the jaw. “Just for instance,” he said. “Anyhow,” he went on, “we could get back to our machine and clear out.” “If it’s there,” I cautiously suggested. “Oh, don’t croak, Van! If it isn’t there, we’ll find our way down somehow--the boat’s there, I guess.” It was hard on Terry, so hard that he finally persuaded us to consider a plan of escape. It was difficult, it was highly dangerous, but he declared that he’d go alone if we wouldn’t go with him, and of course we couldn’t think of that. It appeared he had made a pretty careful study of the environment. From our end window that faced the point of the promontory we could get a fair idea of the stretch of wall, and the drop below. Also from the roof we could make out more, and even, in one place, glimpse a sort of path below the wall. “It’s a question of three things,” he said. “Ropes, agility, and not being seen.” “That’s the hardest part,” I urged, still hoping to dissuade him. “One or another pair of eyes is on us every minute except at night.” “Therefore we must do it at night,” he answered. “That’s easy.” “We’ve got to think that if they catch us we may not be so well treated afterward,” said Jeff. “That’s the business risk we must take. I’m going--if I break my neck.” There was no changing him. The rope problem was not easy. Something strong enough to hold a man and long enough to let us down into the garden, and then down over the wall. There were plenty of strong ropes in the gymnasium--they seemed to love to swing and climb on them--but we were never there by ourselves.