Jack started and stared down at him.
“Heh? Are you talking in your sleep?”
“No,” laughed John. “I merely remarked that that tramp, or whatever you want to call him, had some breath on him. It smelt so strong of alcohol, I’ll bet if you held a lighted match under his chin, he’d breathe a blue flame.”
“Aw, you go on!” growled Dick Roberts. “Say, aren’t you chaps ever going to sleep? Why don’t you quit thinking about such things?”
“That’s pretty good advice,” yawned John. “I guess I will turn in.”
He rummaged in the corner for his own blanket, rolled up in it, and prepared to sleep. Jack followed his example, lying down beside him. Then Pierce Ellison and Eugene Schofield, the only ones who were still sitting up, decided to join them.
“Why don’t you two fellows go upstairs and use the army cots,” suggested John. “It’s silly to let them go to waste.”
“Never thought of it,” answered Pierce. “What do you say, Gene?”
“I don’t mind—if none of the others want them.”
“There’s no one left,” said John. “Go to it!”