Tom dragged his drowsy partner from the bed, seating him on the edge of it.
"Now, shed your pajamas and pull on something decent," Reade commanded grimly. "Hustle! There's a conference going on outside, and you're wanted. Hurry! Want me to dump the pitcher of water on you? I'll do it if you give your eyes another rub!"
Hazelton was now fully convinced that something important was in the air. If not, he knew that his chum never would have hauled him out of bed in the darkest hours of the night.
"If you throw any water I'll shave you with the bread-knife," retorted Harry. "But you can keep on talking to me, so that I won't fall asleep while I'm trying to dress."
Slowly, at first, then more rapidly, Hazelton got his clothes on. Pouring water into the basin he sopped a towel in it, then liberally applied it to his face. The water waked him rapidly.
"Now, lead me forth to where duty calls," mimicked Harry.
"Run along out on to the porch," ordered Tom. "I'll be there in a moment."
Still yawning, Hazelton groped his way out into the hall, along the dark passage, and thence out into the night. Some one stood there, and Harry walked curiously toward him.
"Howdy, whoever you are," was Hazelton's greeting.
"Halloo, Harry, old chum," came Dick Prescott's laughing answer.