“Good land! dat am de hardes’ spring mattrus dis coon ebber snoozed on—yes, sar! Nebber struck nuffin’ lek dat befo’.”
Then he looked around in some surprise.
“Gracious sakes!” he continued. “Whar am de hotel? It done moved away in de night an’ lef’ us.”
It was some time before he realized that they had not put up at a hotel the night before.
“Reckum dis is whar we stopped las’ night,” he finally said. “I ’membah ’bout dat now. We was ter tek turns watchin’. I ain’t took no turn at all, an’ it’s wamnin’. He! he! he! Guess de chap dat was ter wake me fell asleep hisself an’ clean fergot it. Dat meks meh ’bout so much sleep ahaid ob de game.”
He was feeling good over this when he noticed that three forms were stretched on the ground near at hand, instead of four.
“Whar am de odder one?” he muttered. “One ob dem boys am gone fo’ suah. Land ob wartermillions! What do hit mean? Dar am Dimun, an’ dar am Rattletum, an’ dar am Brownin’, but whar—whar am Marser Frank?”
In a moment he was filled with alarm, and he lost no time in grasping Harry’s shoulder and giving it a shake, while he cried:
“Wek up heah, yo’ sleepy haid—wek up, I tells yeh! Dar’s suffin’ wrong heah, ur I’s a fool nigger!”
“Muts the whatter?” mumbled Rattleton, sleepily. “Can’t you let a fellow sleep a minute? It isn’t my turn yet.”