“Shan’t, without you,” was the only reply I could get, and I lay turning my head from side to side, trying to find a cool spot on the pillow, to hear every now and then a shout from the field, and then a burst of plaudits, or cries of, “Well run!”
“Bravo!”
“Well fielded!” and more hand-clapping, all borne faintly in at the window, where Mercer sat with his arms folded, gazing out, but unable to see the field from where he was.
After a time I once more dropped off into a doze and woke again with a start, under the impression that I had been asleep all day.
My head was not quite so bad, and, after lying still, thinking, and listening to the shouts from the cricket-field, I said weakly,—
“Have they nearly done, Tom?”
“Done! No, of course not.”
“What time is it?”
“Don’t know. Haven’t got a watch.”
“Well, what time do you think it is?”