“Where is the Colonel, Dalky?” asked she, wonderingly.
“Couldn’t find him anywhere, but I secured the acceptance of the other officers for dinner to-morrow night,” explained he.
“You did more than that, Dalky!” declared Jack, with a delighted glance at Bill and Bob. “You got the boys three days’ leave while we are stationed here.”
“Oh, really! Goody, goody!” cried several young voices in a chorus of joy.
“And an invitation for all to attend the usual weekly hop to-morrow night, but I can’t see for the life of me how any one can dance with the thermometer pushing the top of the mercury out of the tube,” grumbled Jack.
“Listen to him! Any one would think he isn’t the maddest one of the group when dancing is to be had!” laughed Mr. Dalken.
After finishing the first course, the host turned to his two new guests and said: “We are on the griddle for the tale of your experiences in France, boys. I know the girls have had difficulty in curbing their feminine curiosity to hear of your exploits.”
Both young men flushed, but Bob managed to say: “Bill, here, is the crack story-teller. I always take a back seat when he is on hand to do the honors for both.”
Therefore Bill was deluged with demands for the story, and having cleared his throat in a self-conscious way, he began.
But his preparations were ruined at that moment, when the Belgian lad on the yacht, now unexpectedly introduced a diversion. He had approached with a laden tray, in order to assist the man servant who had charge of the dinner party, but when he saw the two young men in uniform, he immediately sat the tray upon the floor and ran over to fall upon Bill’s neck.