“How do you like my nightcap?” he inquired, suddenly and inconsequently. “Does it suit me?”
“Oh, it’s all right, I suppose,” said Dick, laughing in spite of himself at the bird’s vanity. “Where did you get it?”
“Found it under my pillow,” announced the bird, triumphantly. “That’s why I tumbled out of bed, so that some one at any rate, should come and see me in it. Nobody else seems to be coming, though,” he added, looking anxiously up and down, “so I shall go to bed again; but I shall leave my curtains wide open, so that if anybody passes by during the night, or in the morning, they will see how beautiful I am when I am asleep.”
At that moment there was an awful noise like a deep groan, which grew and grew in volume till it sounded like distant thunder, and then faded away and ended up with a comical little whistle. Again and again it was repeated.
“Oh, Dick! what is it?” called Marjorie, putting her head outside the curtains.
“I can’t think,” said Dick, in a puzzled voice.
“Where have I heard that sound before?” exclaimed the Dodo, putting one finger of the glove to his forehead, and striking a thoughtful attitude.
“Ah! I have it,” he cried. “Of course, it’s a prehistoric snore—the Doctor is asleep.”
And, sure enough, that was what the noise was. By listening outside the curtains of his berth they discovered, without a doubt, that it proceeded from there.
“What a frightful row,” cried Dick, indignantly. “We can’t go to sleep with all that noise going on. Let’s wake him up.”