“Oh, please! _Please!_” wailed the captive. “Let me go! Let me _go_!” Barry didn’t like the sound of that. The boy, whoever he was, was badly frightened, almost hysterical. Barry crossed the road quickly. There were five forms in the group moving slowly back into the darkness. They had the captive securely enough, but he was struggling desperately, panting convulsively, too panicky now to control his voice. “Oh, shut up,” growled Rusty. “We aren’t going to hurt you, you baby!” Their own scuffling footsteps kept the captors from hearing Barry’s approach, and the sudden sound of his voice brought an instant halt. “Hold on a minute,” said Barry. “This chap’s too scared. I wouldn’t go any further with this business, fellows.” “You wouldn’t?” demanded Rusty, sarcastically. “Well, who’s asking you to? You go roll your hoop, young feller.” The boy had quieted, although Barry could still hear his stifled sobs. Barry kept his temper as he answered: “Well, I’m Third, too, you know, and I’m not trying to spoil your fun, but you ought to be able to see for yourselves――” “Hire a hall!” Rusty reached forward and gave Barry a shove that sent him staggering into another of the group. “Come on, fellows! ‘Drown the pup’!” Barry recovered himself and slipped past the youth whose toes he had, doubtless, damaged. The move brought his back to the fence and with a sudden yank he pulled the captive to his side and quickly stepped in front of him. He had recognized the boy now: he was Fessenden, his neighbor at table. The coup left Rusty momentarily too astonished and outraged for speech, and in that instant Barry, half turning his head, whispered, “Run when you see the chance!” Whether Fessenden heard or, hearing, understood, Barry couldn’t know. Rusty had pushed a companion roughly aside and from a few inches away was glaring at the meddler. Barry resolutely kept his hands at his sides. He was still smiling, although perhaps the darkness concealed the fact. “You get out of here!” roared Rusty. “Go on! Get!” He seized Barry’s coat at a shoulder and tried to heave him aside. The cloth strained, but Barry didn’t heave. Instead, one of his own hands went swiftly up and caught Rusty’s wrist, a foot shot forward, and then he did heave, while Rusty, pulled forward and tripping over Barry’s extended leg, swung to one side and crashed into the fence. And at the instant Barry shouted, “_Run!_” But Fessenden was incapable of running, and only cowered beside him, gasping and futile.