“You can’t get into that. Besides, I want it myself.”
“Can’t have it. It’s become the property of Burnham and Co.”
“Is it time to get up?”
“Past time. Too late for breakfast.”
Jack said this so gravely that Carlos was disturbed, though he lingered to stretch himself thoroughly and to look curiously around the chamber. Save the shack at which he had been dropped on the evening before it was the barest place he had ever seen. Even a sheep-herder’s hut had more of convenience about it, but he had gone to bed in the dark without observing this. After the manner of lads, the pair had long lain awake exchanging confidences, until Mr. Burnham’s voice from somewhere had warned them that there must be silence.
“Oh! dear! I wish morning hadn’t come so soon!”
“Mid-day, you mean. Near dinner-time. Where’d you get this jacket, anyway? I’d like to shoot a red man and steal one for myself.”
“Why don’t you, then?”
Jack ceased struggling with the garment and whistled.
“Humph! You’re ‘sassy,’ too. But come on. Get up. Here. The mother has been in and says you are to put on these.”