Nor was Dave now really disappointed over the
present prospect of having an hour or two by himself. He went
to a one-shelf book rack high overhead and pulled down one of
his two recent novels.
"If I want Danny boy at any time I fancy I have only to step as
far as Page's room," mused Dave, as he seated himself by his desk.
An hour slipped by without interruption. An occasional burst
of laughter floated down the corridor. At some distance away,
on the same deck of barracks in Bancroft Hall, a midshipman was
industriously twanging away on a banjo. Darrin, however, absorbed
in his novel, paid no heed to any of the signs of Saturday-night
jollity. He was a third of the way through an exciting tale when
there came a knock on the door---a moment later a head was thrust in.
Midshipman Farley's head was thrust inside.
"All alone, Darry?" called Mr. Farley.
"Yes," Dave answered, laying his novel aside after having thrust
an envelope between pages to hold the place. "Come in, Farl."
"Where's Dalzell?" inquired Farley, after having closed the door
behind him.
"Until this moment I thought that he was in your room."
"I haven't seen him all evening," Farley responded. "Page and I
have been yawning ourselves to death."
"Danny boy is visiting some other crowd, then," guessed Darrin.
"He will probably be along soon. Did you want to see him about
anything in particular?"
"Oh, no. I came here to escape being bored to death by Page,
and poor old Pagey has just fled to Wilson's room to escape being
bored by me.
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