- WE ARE AFLOAT, AFLOAT IN AN OPEN BOAT.
IT was Mrs. Poppets that woke me up next morning.
She said:
"Do you know that it's nearly nine o'clock, sir?"
"Nine o' what?" I cried, starting up.
"Nine o'clock," she replied, through the keyhole. "I thought you was a-
oversleeping yourselves."
I woke Harris, and told him. He said:
"I thought you wanted to get up at six?"
"So I did," I answered; "why didn't you wake me?"
"How could I wake you, when you didn't wake me?" he retorted. "Now we
shan't get on the water till after twelve. I wonder you take the trouble
to get up at all."
"Um," I replied, "lucky for you that I do. If I hadn't woke you, you'd
have lain there for the whole fortnight."
We snarled at one another in this strain for the next few minutes, when
we were interrupted by a defiant snore from George.
It reminded us, for the first time since our being called, of his
existence.
There he lay - the man who had wanted to know what time he should wake us
- on his back, with his mouth wide open, and his knees stuck up.
I don't know why it should be, I am sure; but the sight of another man
asleep in bed when I am up, maddens me. It seems to me so shocking to
see the precious hours of a man's life - the priceless moments that will
never come back to him again - being wasted in mere brutish sleep.
