CHAPTER XXVIII
“TRAMP’S REST.”
TOM had discontinued work on the lean-to for some untold reason, and just after lunch he and Hepburn had gone over to Bert’s to get the horse and go for the cots.
The rest of us broke up into convenient groups and tennised or walked, but by the middle of the afternoon a drowsiness came over us, superinduced by our sleepless night, and with the exception of Ethel and Mrs. Benedict, who were helping prepare dinner, we all slept, some in hammocks, one on the ornate sofa and the rest in the three bedrooms.
And then, just before dinner, Tom and Hepburn not having come, we all went out to look for them.
It ought not to have taken them long to buy two cot beds and bring them up, and they had been gone four hours at least.
We walked upwards of a mile toward town, and at last came to a rock, from the top of which we could command a view of the rest of the road to Egerton, but there was no sign of Bert’s wagon.
“Well,” said Ethel, “we’d better be starting back, for dinner ought to be ready soon.”
And so we sauntered back, expecting every minute to be overtaken by the cot bringers.
We arrived at the house and all entered by the south door, attracted thereto by the recumbent figures of our truants. Each one was reclining gracefully upon a cot reading, and smoking excellent cigars.
“Here, here,” said Tom, when he saw us. “This will never do. Dinner’s ready this ten minutes, and Hepburn and I are starving.”