"But-----"

"There's no time for 'buts,'" retorted Darrin, pushing Farley
toward the door. "Find it!"

"And I-----" added Page, springing toward the door.

"You'll stay here," ordered Dave.

Darrin was already headed toward his friend's alcove, where Dalzell's
cot lay. Page followed.

"The dummy," explained Darrin briefly.

Every midshipman at Annapolis, doubtless, is familiar with the
dummy. Not so many, probably, are familiar with the doughface,
which, at the time this is written, was a new importation.

Swiftly Dave and Page worked. First they turned down the clothing,
after having hurriedly made up the cot. Now, from among the garments
hanging on the wall nearby the two midshipmen took down the garments
that normally lay under others. With these they rigged up a figure
not unlike that of a human being. At least, it looked so after
the bed clothes had been drawn up in place.

Then, glancing at the time, Dave Darrin waited---breathless.

Farley hastened into the room without losing time by knocking.
Under one arm he bore, half hidden, some roundish object, wrapped
in a towel.