"Some day, Darry, you'll tumble that you've been played for a fool," grumbled Farley.
"Then I'll have the satisfaction, won't I, of knowing that it's all my own fault?" smiled Dave Darrin.
"Yes; but I hate to see you go to pieces for a fellow like Jetson."
The following Saturday afternoon Darrin came in from a brisk walk, to find Dan poring over his books at the study desk.
"Letter there for you," said Dan, without looking up, as Dave, after glancing into the room, had turned with the intention of calling on Farley and Page.
"Thank you." Darrin crossed the room, picking up the letter. "From Belle," he remarked. "The second from her this week, and I haven't written her. Answering letters should be part of a man's honor, so instead of cruising about on the deck, I reckon I'd better sit down and write Belle."
"What are you going to tell her?" asked Dan quietly, without looking up.
"Hang it all!" grumbled Dave. "This is where the situation begins to be tough. Of course you understand how things are, Danny boy, and you are aware that I have asked Belle to take upon herself the right to be equally interested with me in my career."
"It is tough," assented Dan, with ready sympathy, and laying aside his book for the moment. "If my memory serves, Belle asked particularly, when she was here, that you let her know how the Jetson row turned out."
"Yes; she did."