This time Glass deposited him upon a stool beside the table, and
then lighted a candle, by the sickly glare of which he selected a
pair of running-shoes.
"Why didn't you leave me alone?" grumbled the younger man. "The
only pleasure I get is in sleep--I forget things then."
"Yes," retorted the former, sarcastically, "and you also seem to
forget that these are our last days among the living. Saturday
the big thing comes off."
"Forget! I dreamed about it!" The boy sighed heavily. It was the
hour in which hope reaches its lowest ebb and vitality is
weakest. He was very cold and very miserable.
"You ain't got no edge on me," the other acknowledged,
mournfully. "I'm too young to die, and that's a bet."
Suddenly the pandemonium in the bunk-house was pierced by the
brazen jangle of an alarm-clock, whereat a sleepy voice cried:
"Cloudy, kill that damn clock!"
The Indian uttered some indistinguishable epithet, and the next
instant there came a crash as the offending timepiece was hurled
violently against the wall. In silence Glass shoved his unsteady
victim ahead of him out into the dawn.
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