"Oh, you look good enough; come on!" exclaimed Paul Drew to Dick, as the latter was surveying his uniform in a small glass in their room that night, just before the time set for the farewell supper. "This isn't a fancy dress ball, and there aren't going to be any girls at it. Don't primp!" "I'm not primping, but the tailor made this coat too tight, and I'm afraid if I reach across the table I'll split it down the middle."
"Which, the table or the coat?"
"Both," retorted Dick, and then, to test the garment, he stretched out his arms. There was an ominous ripping sound, and he hastily threw back his shoulders in alarm.
"What did I tell you?" he asked, reproachfully.
"Don't stretch; that's all," advised Paul. "But come on if you're coming."
They descended to the improvised banquet hall. The place was tastefully arranged, except that Toots had taken the cut flowers Dick had ordered—a mass of roses, pinks and smilax—and stuck them into a big water pitcher in the centre of the table.
"Oh, wow! See that!" cried Dick. "It looks like a boarding-house hash-foundry! Here, Paul, help me scatter the posies more artistically. They remind me of a cabbage-head at a county fair; but Toots meant all right."
The two cadets soon had made several bouquets of the flowers, and set them in different places on the table, producing a much more artistic effect. Then Dick stepped back to admire it.
"I smell grub!" cried a voice outside.