"When Trotter comes back," muttered Dan, "if he asks me whether
I can talk French, I'll tell him that I've tried, and now I know
I can't."
It was the last night before the upper classmen were due back from their leave.
Dave and Dan were in their room, poring hard over French, when a light tap sounded on the door.
Right on top of the tap Midshipman Farley, fourth class, entered on tiptoe, closing the door behind him.
This accomplished, Farley dropped his air of stealth, strolling over to the study desk.
"There's a nice little place in town—you know, Purdy's," began
Farley significantly.
"I've heard of it as an eating place," responded Darrin.
"It's more than that," returned Farley, smacking his lips. "It's an ideal place for a banquet."
"I accept your word for it," smiled Dave.
"I don't ask you to, Darrin," grinned Farley. "Like any honest man I'm prepared to prove all I say. Purdy has received—by underground telegraph—orders to prepare a swell feast for eight. It's to be ready at eleven tonight. We had the eight all made up, but two fellows have flunked cold. We're to French it over the wall tonight, leaving here a few minutes after taps. Are you on?"