Tom Fairfield disposed himself comfortably on the bed before replying. There was room there, now, for the food and drink had been disposed of. Tom stretched out, finished a half-consumed sardine sandwich, and went on. “You know old Efficiency, don’t you?” began Tom, with tantalizing slowness. “I should say we did!” came in a whispered chorus. “The prof who’s always lecturing on improving your opportunities, isn’t he?” asked a student who had not been at Elmwood very long. “That’s the one,” resumed Tom. “You know he claims we all eat and drink too much. He holds that a person should find the minimum amount of food on which he can live, and take no more than that.” “I’ve had more than my share to-night, all right,” comfortably murmured Jack. “And Efficiency, as we call him,” went on Tom, “is a hater of feasting of any sort, unless it be a feast of reason. I think he lives on half a cracker and a gill of milk a day, or something like that.” “Well, what’s the idea?” asked Bert, impatiently. “This,” answered Tom, calmly. “We will take the remains of our herewith feast, the broken victuals, the things in which they were contained, the empty tins, the depleted bottles, and deposit them on the doorstep of the domicile of Professor Hazeltine, otherwise known as Old Efficiency. When they are seen there it will show to the world that he does not practice what he preaches.” There was silence for a moment following Tom’s announcement, and then came chuckles and smothered laughter. “Say, that’s a good one all right!” “It sure is!” “Ha! Ha! Ha! It takes Tom Fairfield to think ’em out!” “Easy there!” Bert cautioned them. “You’ll give the whole snap away, if you’re not careful.” “Well, shall we do it?” asked Tom. “I should say we will!” declared Jack. “Then gather up the stuff and come along, a few at a time,” advised the ringleader. “We don’t want to make too much noise.” A little later dark and silent figures might have been observed stealing across the school campus, carrying various objects. The front stoop of the professor, who was such a stickler for efficiency and the maximum of effect with the minimum of effort, was in the shadow, and soon it was piled high with many things. Emptied sardine tins, olive bottles which contained only the appetizing odor, pasteboard cartons of crackers or other cakes, ginger-ale bottles with only a few drops of the beverage in the bottom, papers and paper bags, the pasteboard circlets from Charlotte russes--these and many more things from the forbidden midnight feast were piled on the steps. Then the conspirators stole away, one by one, as they had come. Tom Fairfield lingered last to make a more artistic arrangement of the empty bottles; then he, too, joined his chums. “I rather guess that’ll make ’em lie down and close their eyes,” he said, in distinction to the process of “sitting up and taking notice.” “It sure will,” agreed Jack, with a chuckle.