a long wait before daylight appears," said
Tom impatiently, pointing out of the windows, while Johnny tackled the
dilapidated tea-kettle in an effort to make himself an early morning
drink. Tom stamped up and down the room to warm himself, remarking:
"Thank the Lord it's Sunday and there isn't much going on, otherwise
we'd all get sick chasing around with telegrams in this beastly fog."

Boom! The roar of a distant cannon suddenly made the windows rattle;
boom again! It sounded as though it came from the Fort. "There you are,"
said Tom, "there's your naval maneuvers. Perry won't stand any nonsense.
He's not afraid of the fog; in fact, it gives him a fine chance for an
attack."

Johnny didn't answer, for he had meanwhile dozed off. As soon as he had
with considerable trouble got his tea-kettle into working order, he had
fallen fast asleep, and now began to snore with his nose pressed flat
on the table, as if he meant to saw it through before his tea was ready.

Tom shrugged his shoulders in disgust, and said: "Those blamed drinks."

Another boom! from outside. The door opened behind Tom and a telegraph
official looked in. "One, two," he counted, "two are there," and then he
closed the door again.

Downstairs in the street a motor-cycle hurried past puffing and
rattling, the rider's figure looking like a gigantic elusive shadow
through the fog.

Tom started to walk up and down again as the clock in the hall struck a
quarter to five. A bell rung in the next room. Steps were heard coming
up the stairs and a colleague of the other two came in, swearing at the
fog. He passed Johnny, poured out some of the latter's tea for himself
and drank it, meanwhile looking at the sleeper inquiringly.

"It's the drinks," said Tom, grinning.

"H'm," growled the other. Another motor-cycle went by on the street
below, and then another.

Later on a group of ten motor-cycles rode past.

"Did you see that, Harry?" asked Tom, who was standing at the window.

"What?"

"Didn't they have guns?"

"They probably have something to do with the naval maneuvers."

At this moment another group of ten men passed, and there was no doubt
of the fact that they carried guns.

"I guess it is the naval maneuvers," asserted Tom.

Boom! came the sound of another shot.

"That's queer," said Tom. "What do you suppose it is?" He opened the
window and listened. "Do you hear it?" he asked Harry, who admitted
that he could also hear a rattling, scr