He escaped into the open air. The moon was low. Someone was singing.
[CHAPTER XV]
UNCLE JOHN GRANT
It was day. The lie was hard. He didn't want to wake. He turned over and was sleep again, though the lie was very hard.
Someone pushing him. Tom, with a red, blank face was saying:
"Wake up! Let's go before Rackett starts."
And the rough hands pushing him crudely. He hated it.
He sat up. He had been lying on the bottom of the buggy, with a sack over him. No idea how he got there. It was full day.
"Old woman's got some tea made. If y' want t' change y' bags, hop over 'n take a dip in the pool. Down th' paddock there. Here's th' bag. I've left soap n' comb on th' splash board, an' I've seen to th' 'osses. I'm goin' f'r a drink while you get ready."
Tom had got a false dawn on him. He had wakened with that false energy which sometimes follows a "drunk," and which fades all too quickly. For he had hardly slept at all.