"'Bus right up to the town hall!" cried a driver, sizing the trio
up shrewdly.
"Thank you; that's our auto over there," nodded Tom, pointing
to a lunch wagon. Reade started the chums at a brisk walk. Of
the first native they met they inquired the way.
Tom was still talking at forty horse-power when they came to the
town hall.
"That building holds our fate!" muttered Dave, as they drew near.
"Stop that!" ordered Tom. "Anyone would think that Annapolis
was all the candy in the land. What are you worrying about, anyway?
Haven't I taken all the responsibility for this thing upon myself?
Haven't I promised you both that you shall find your little toy
appointments in your Christmas stockings? Do you think I'm lying?"
"But the exams!" groaned Dave.
"Well, they're competitive," quoted Tom cheerily.
"That's just what ails 'em!" argued Dave.
"You make me think of my cousin, Jack Reade, of the militia,"
taunted Tom. "He's a captain. Now, Jack wanted to be appointed
assistant inspector general of rifle practice. He was ordered
up for his exam. Poor fellow spent three weeks, days and nights,
boning for that exam. The family had the doctor in twice, for
they were afraid Jack was studying himself crazy. Then the day
came for the exam. Jack went into the ordeal shivering. The
examiner asked Jack to write down his full name, the date of his
birth, and the date of his entry into the militia.
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