"Hurry up, it's daylight!"
"Where?"
"Come, now, you got to run five miles before breakfast!"
Speed sat up with a groan. "If I run five miles," he said, "I
won't want any breakfast," and laid himself down again
gratefully--he was very sore--whereat his companion fairly
dragged him out of bed. As yet the room was black, although the
windows were grayed by the first faint streaks of dawn. From the
adjoining room came a chorus of distress: snores of every size,
volume, and degree of intensity, from the last harrowing gasp of
strangulation to the bold trumpetings of a bull moose. There were
long drawn sighs, groans of torture, rumbling blasts. Speed
shuddered.
"They sound like a troop of trained sea-lions," said he.
"Don't wake 'em up. Here!" Glass yawned widely, and tossed a
bundle of sweaters at his companion.
"Ugh! These clothes are all wet and cold, and--it feels like
blood!"
"Nothin' but the mornin' dew."
"It's perspiration."
"Well, a little sweat won't hurt you."
"Nasty word." Speed yawned in turn. "Perspiration! I can't wear
wet clothes," and would have crept back into his bed.
Pages:
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151