“Well, go on, stupid,” said Mercer at last.
“Go on indeed!” I said angrily. “What’s the good of coming and disturbing a fellow like this? It’s only one o’clock.”
“Don’t believe it. That clock’s wrong. Now, if I had had a watch—”
“Bother the watch!—bother the clock!—bother you!” I cried. “If you don’t be off, I’ll give you bolster.”
“Oh, very well,” he said. “But I couldn’t sleep. It must be four, though. I’ll go and lie down for a bit longer.”
He stole back to his bed, and, with a sigh of relief, I sank back into a delicious nap, from which my tormentor roused me twice more, to declare it must be time to get up; but there was not a faint gleam of light yet at the window, and I resolutely refused to rise, sending my companion back to bed, and going off again, to wake at last with the sun shining brilliantly in by the curtain. This time I jumped up, with the full impression upon me that I had overslept myself; while there lay Mercer on his back, with his mouth wide-open, and giving vent every now and then to a guttural snore.
And now we shall be too late, I thought, as I hurried on my trousers, slipped out of the dormitory door, to run down to the end of the passage, where I could look out and see the sun shining brightly on the gold letters of the clock face, where, to my great delight, the hands pointed to half-past four.
Plenty of time, and I went back and roused up Mercer, who started into wakefulness, looking quite guilty.
“All right!” he said. “I only just shut my eyes. What’s o’clock?”
“Time you were dressed,” I whispered. “Don’t talk loud, or you’ll wake the others.”