"No good, then," sighed Dalzell, "and my inventiveness is gone."
"I'm afraid we'll have to French it over the wall," insisted Joyce.
"You'll French it alone, then," Dave declared. "I draw the line at leaving the grounds without official permission."
"Prig!" grunted Joyce under his breath. Then he started up, his eyes shining with the light of a new resolve.
"Got an idea?" asked Dan.
"Yes," said Joyce. "And you'll call me a fool if I let you in on it now.
Wait until I see how it works."
With that he hastened from the room. Darrin drew down a book from the bookshelf, and from between its pages extracted a letter from Belle, which he began to read for the dozenth time.
A few minutes passed. Then Joyce knocked, next entered the room with jubilation apparent in his face.
"I've fixed it," he cried. "All you fellows have to do is to go to the
O.C. and make your request in person."
"Request for what?" Dave asked, looking up as he folded the letter.