“Give ’em a song,” said Benedict, who was a fine baritone, and he began it, “‘Sleep no more, ladies, sleep no more.’”
He sang it as a solo as none of us knew the setting he used, but as an injunction it was needless. The ladies were not calculating on sleeping any more.
“Where are you going?” asked Ethel from somewhere out of sight.
“Oh, only down to the old swimmin’ hole,” said Tom.
“Why, there’s no swimming hole anywhere’s near,” said she.
“Marsh’s Pond, my dear,” said I. “This is a record-breaker for heat and we’re going to break the record for swimming at an unseasonable hour. We’ll be back for breakfast. Good night.”
“How far is it?” asked Tom.
“Oh, only a couple of miles or so,” said I. “We’ll take it easy there and back.”
“Please may I be excused,” said Benedict. “I’m not in training for such a walk on an empty stomach.”
“That’s easily remedied. We’ll fill up on cold lamb.”