“The lamp lit, Ned?” faltered Jack, with his heart fluttering the while.
“Yes, sir; it’ll be quite dark directly.”
“Yes,” thought the lad, with a pang of misery shooting through him as he realised that after all this man was a friend that he could not afford to lose, “it will be quite dark directly.”
“I’d go and fetch one, sir, but I don’t feel up to it. I should go down on my nose if I tried to stand; and,” he continued, laughing weakly, “smash the glass shade.”
“Ned!” cried Jack, catching his hand, which closed upon it tightly.
“Have I been lying here all the afternoon, sir?”
“Yes—yes,” sighed Jack, and he tried to withdraw his hand so as to call for help; but Ned clung to it tightly.
“What a shame! Upsetting everybody, and turning the gentlemen out of their place. I say, you can’t have had dinner here, sir.”
“No, Ned.”
“’Shamed of myself. I don’t know how time’s gone. Been asleep. Dreaming like mad, and—Heigho! ha—hum! Hark at that, sir, for a yawn. Never put my hand before my mouth. I say, what about the niggers?”