“Come on,” said Don. “No; just a few minutes longer. Can’t you wait?” “Say, Jud, you’re a mystery to me to-night,” said Don. “I don’t know what under the sun you’re trying to do. I don’t think you know, yourself!” “Who’s doing all the talking now?” inquired Jud with a grin. For almost ten minutes the boys waited in the cold. Then Jud led the way to the door. The soldier on duty at once blocked the passage. “Scat, you youngsters,” he said. Jud surely had his temper well in hand that night. “We’re looking for a sergeant-major,” he said, smiling. “We’ve got to see him, for we have something important that belongs to him.” “What is it?” Jud was embarrassed--at least, he showed every sign of being embarrassed. “It’s--it’s just a little thing with a lady’s name engraved on it.” The soldier laughed. “Do you think you could find him in there?” “Between the two of us I think we could,” Jud replied promptly. “Well, be quick about it then.” The boys were as quick as a flash. “Young Tories,” the soldier said to a bystander as they entered the building. Jud turned abruptly, but Don grasped his arm and pulled him along. “Don’t be a hothead,” he whispered. It was only luck that made Jud spy Bluster a few moments later in the crowded hall. The sergeant-major was sitting on a chair at the extreme right of the hall. His hat was on the floor beneath the chair, and he was leaning back with his arms folded across his chest. More than one Redcoat looked inquiringly at the boys as they walked round the chairs and benches, and thought no doubt that they were the sons of some prominent Tory who had brought them with him. As Jud was passing behind Bluster’s chair he dropped his hat and, in picking it up, succeeded in laying the ornamental snuff-box on the hat of the soldier--a circumstance that puzzled the fellow till the end of his days. After that the boys found a secluded corner where they stood, in the shadows, and waited for the play to begin. In front of them were Redcoats, talking and laughing and smoking. There were a great many ladies, all of whom had come to laugh at the expense of the townsfolk of Boston and of the Continental army outside the town. Fans were moving lightly to and fro, though there was no need of fans in the cold building; scabbards and buckles were clacking against the wooden seats; and the lights round the small stage jarred and flickered as couples moved in front of them to their seats. Don and Jud said little, but their eyes and ears were alert. At last the music started, and some time later the curtain on the stage was hauled up. There were to be two plays that evening, the first of which was called “The Busy Body.” The boys watched the actors, all of whom were Redcoats, and thought the thing rather dull and stupid. But the audience seemed to enjoy it; there were frequent bursts of applause and a good deal of laughter.