Chapter Three.
Fits of Temper.
“Don’t go to sleep, Dozey.”
“Who’s going to sleep?”
“Your eyes were nearly shut.”
“Well, who’s to keep them open in this glaring sun?” cried Dean, half angrily.
“Well, don’t jump down a fellow’s throat.”
“It’s enough to make one. I just put my eyes half to, because there’s no shade, and you begin at me directly because once or twice I wouldn’t keep awake to listen to your prosing about something or another after we had gone to bed, and I did not want to hear.”