The night air was rather sharp, and there was a bright moon.
Along the streets of New Haven the five freshmen ran, and those who observed them supposed they were some crew in training.
Merriwell set a moderate pace, for he knew it was likely they would need all their wind on the return.

There was no telling what sort of a scrape they might get into.
Rattleton was behind, taking things as easy as possible.

He filled his lungs with the crisp, clear air, and it made him feel like a young race horse, but he held himself in check.
Street actually loafed along, although he managed to keep his place.
"If one of us is caught, he'll be like the gangplank of a steamer," called Harry as they left the main part of the city and entered the suburbs.
"How's that ?" asked Blossom.
"Pulled in," chirped Rattleton.

"Don't stop to throw anything this way.
Keep right on." "They say Browning was caught swiping turks in his freshman year," said Lewis, "and it cost his old man a round sum to settle and keep the thing quiet, so Bruce wouldn't be expelled.

Dad Browning has got money to burn." "Well, his son's a good match for him," Merriwell tossed over his shoulder.
"A good match for him! Oh, say!" gasped Robinson, exhibiting signs of sudden weakness.
Away they went, laughing and jesting, finally leaving the city behind and getting out into the country.