Marcellus, too, returned; but this time he was equipped with a book, as well as with a sword, and though he followed the lines with his finger as he read, and seldom glanced at his companions, and once his words, “my good lord,” were evidently misunderstood by his audience, still no further interruptions came until the Ghost once more joined the group.
Then a fresh trouble arose. Just at the most impressive part, a long-drawn-out sigh seemed to come from Ethan, who had remained quietly in his seat at the end of the bench.
Marcellus had just been strongly warning Hamlet not to go with the untimely visitor, and Horatio had added, “No, by no means,” when the sigh from Ethan’s corner rose again, louder, longer, and more intense. All in the audience could hear it, and as it came once more our four boys glanced quickly at the boatman.
His head was thrown back against the wall, his eyes were closed, and his mouth was wide open. It was evident that Ethan was sleeping.
“It will not speak; then I will follow it,” Hamlet was just remarking on the stage.
“O-o-o-h-h-h!” responded Ethan, in something more pronounced now than a sigh. His voice trembled and quavered, and seemed to gather force as on it went.
“Wake him up, Jock,” whispered Ben.
“Stick a pin in him. He’ll spoil the play,” whispered Bert.
Jock turned to shake the boatman lightly and strive to restore him by gentle means, but his efforts were not required; for one of the small boys seated directly behind Ethan acted promptly, and at once produced results as startling as they were unexpected.