“Oh, bring anything,” said poor Bill. He knew that he would have to eat if he was to keep up his strength, for he had determined to try to escape by the windows as soon as he was left alone again. He had a wild idea of making a rush when the farmer opened the door, but a look at the bulky frame of the man made him change his mind. The food was good and Bill ate a hearty meal. Then he was left alone again, the farmer, on locking the door, saying that he expected the keepers any moment. It was evident that he believed the stories the captors of Bill had told him. Once he was alone, and when a look from the windows had assured him that he was not being watched, Bill began to put into operation his plan of getting away. He hoped that the ropes which had bound him would enable him to make his way down them out of the window, but on tying the pieces together he discovered that they were not long enough. “Up against it!” exclaimed the lad, until, looking more carefully out of the end casement he discovered that a stout lightning rod ran near it, down the side of the house. “That’s just the cheese, if it will hold me,” murmured the lad. “I’m going to try it anyhow.” He crawled out on the window sill, tested the rod as best he could, and then swung himself down it. To his joy it held, and in a few seconds he was safe on the ground. “Now to find out where I am, and streak it for school and the game!” he murmured, looking around to see that the farmer was not in sight. He got his bearings and was soon out on a dusty highway. He ran for some distance until a turn in the road hid the house of his captivity from him, and then slowed down to a walk. The surroundings were still unfamiliar to him, but meeting a man driving a carriage he learned that he was near the village of Belleville, about twenty miles from Westfield. “And it’s coming on noon, I haven’t half enough to buy a railroad ticket, and the game is called at two o’clock!” groaned Bill. “I certainly am up against it good and hard!” The man whom he had accosted was going in the wrong direction, or he would have given the lad a lift. However, he did consent to drive him to the railroad station. “I’ll see if I can’t give the agent a hard-luck story, and have him trust me for a ticket,” thought the pitcher. But the station agent proved to be a hard-featured man, who had once lost a dollar by lending it to a young lady who told him a pathetic story, and he turned a deaf ear to Bill’s pleading. “No money no ticket,” he declared. “But look here,” gasped Bill. “Some fellows, either at my school, or from Tuckerton, played a joke on me last night—kidnapped me. I’m to pitch in the championship Freshman baseball game at two o’clock this afternoon, and I’ve just _got_ to be there. I’ll pay you back if you trust me for a ticket. Or say, you can ship me as express, C. O. D. and the boys will pay the charges at Westfield.”