Two mornings later Percy Whittington was awakened in his room at the Thorndike in Rockland by a bell-boy hammering on his door.
"What's the matter?" he inquired, stupidly.
"Five o'clock! Five o'clock! Your call!"
"Is that all?" exclaimed Percy, relieved. "I didn't know but the hotel might be on fire."
He rolled over for another nap. Half an hour later he was roused by a lively tattoo beaten on the panels by two sets of vigorous knuckles.
"Inside there, Whittington!" exhorted Lane's voice. "Wake up! This isn't any rest-cure. The Stonington boat starts in twenty minutes. You've lost your breakfast, and unless you hustle you'll make us miss the steamer. Better let us in to help you pack!"
Percy bounded out of bed and admitted Lane and Spurling. While he dressed hastily they jammed his scattered belongings into two suit-cases. Stevens joined them in the hotel office and they made a lively spurt for Tillson's Wharf, reaching the Governor Bodwell just before her plank was pulled aboard.
The party had arrived in Rockland on the late train the night before, and were to start for Stonington early that morning. Percy's drowsiness had almost thwarted their plans.
"You'll have to revise your sleeping schedule, Whittington, when we get to Tarpaulin," said Spurling.
Percy was too much interested in the view opening before him to take offense at this remark.