“Why, you did.”
“I didn’t. I said it was one of those pigmies.”
“Then you dreamt it. What time is it?”
“I don’t know. Shall I strike a light?”
“What, and wake the doctor? No, it would only make him grumpy at being roused for nothing. There, I can guess pretty closely. It wants over an hour to dawn. So here goes. I’m off.”
As he spoke Mark wrenched himself round, turning his back to his cousin, and at the same time reached his face over so that he could breathe in the cool, soft breeze that comes just before the day, while Dean sighed and followed his example, both sleeping heavily till there was a sharp crack of a waggon whip, and they both started up, to utter almost together, “Hallo!”
“Hallo!”
And then they stared hard at each other over something else.