“But say,” Don interrupted him, “you haven’t told me yet how we’re going to get inside the place.”
“That’s so,” replied Jud and thrust his elbow knowingly into his companion’s ribs. “This will get us inside, I think,” and he drew something small and shiny from his pocket and handed it to Don.
“A silver snuff-box,” said Don, looking at it with some wonder.
“Yes; it’s Sergeant-Major Bluster’s. He couldn’t seem to find it to-day. Funny, too, ’cause if he’d asked me, I could have told him right where it was all the time—in my pocket. Do you understand now?”
Don did not understand and said so emphatically.
Jud laughed good-naturedly. “You’re pretty dull sometimes,” he said frankly. “Just you let me do the talking and we’ll be inside Faneuil Hall in three shakes.”
“You’ve been doing most of the talking.” Don could not resist the thrust. “So go ahead and finish.”
“All right; now here we are.”
The boys had reached the hall, which was well lighted and partly filled with troops. Don and Jud stood to one side of the door and watched the men as they came singly and in groups and vanished inside the great building. There were ladies too, most of them young, and all escorted by gallant officers. Jud kept a sharp lookout toward the door.
At last Don, a bit impatient at the delay, asked, “How much longer are we going to wait?”