"Good," said Thomas, and went to sleep again.
"We've told Thomas," said Archie. "Now, are you satisfied?"
"Get away, you brute," shouted Simpson, suddenly, and dived under the sheet.
Archie and I lay back and shouted with laughter.
"It's really very silly of him," said Archie, "because—go away—because everybody knows that—get away, you ass—that wasps aren't dangerous unless—confound you—unless—I say, isn't it time we got up?"
I came up from under my sheet and looked at my watch. "Four-thirty,"
I said, dodged a wasp, and went back again.
"We must wait till five-thirty," said Archie. "Simpson was quite right; he WAS stung, after all. I'll tell him so."
He leant out of bed to tell him so, and then thought better of it and retired beneath the sheets.
At five-thirty a gallant little party made its way to the house, its mattresses over its shoulders.
"Gently," said Archie, as we came in sight of the tennis lawn.