“Have I? Where? What—this thing?”
“Yes, of course. Let’s see what it’s good for.”
There was a fold of gauze netting at the head of the bedstead. This, on further investigation, was found to be large enough to protect the head and shoulders of the sleeper, and Gerard duly arranged it as best he knew how for the benefit of his companion.
“There you are, old chap. Now you’ll be all right—only it’s rather like shutting the stable door after the horse is stolen. I’ll tuck my head under the sheet, and dodge them that way.”
He returned to his shakedown, and put out the light. He was just dozing off, when another exclamation on the part of his companion aroused him.
“What’s the row now?” he cried.
“Row? I should think there was. Just listen to that fellow next door ‘sawing planks.’”
A shrill, strident, rasping snore came through the partition, which was constructed of very thin boarding. A most exasperating snore withal, and one calculated to drive a light sleeper to the verge of frenzy.
“Well, I’m afraid we can do nothing against that,” said Gerard, ruefully.
Nor could they. And what with the stifling heat, the mosquito bites, and that maddening snore, our two young friends had a very bad night of it indeed, and but little sleep fell to their lot. Harry Maitland, fagged and disgusted, was not slow to air his grievances to the full the next morning on meeting Wayne. But that unfeeling individual only laughed.