“Nonsense! Do,” he cried. “Do you good. Come, have a drink.”
He grew more persistent, but the more persistent he was the more I shrank from the cup he held in his hand; and at last I felt sorry, for he seemed so kind that it was ungracious of me to refuse him so simple a request.
“Oh, very well!” he said, “just as you like. There will be the more for me.”
He laughed, nodded, and drank the contents of the cup before putting the screw-top on the flask, thrusting it in his breast-pocket, and then making a cushion of his railway wrapper he lay at full length upon the cushion, and seemed to compose himself to sleep.
It was such a good example that, after a few minutes’ silence, I did the same, and lay with my eyes half-closed, listening to the dull rattle of the train, and thinking of the works at Arrowfield, and what a good job it was that I spoke to Uncle Bob about the trap.
Then I hoped he would not be incautious and hurt himself in letting off the spring.
I looked across at my fellow-traveller, who seemed to be sleeping soundly, and the sight of his closed eyes made mine heavy, and no wonder, for every other night I had been on guard at the works, and that seemed to shorten my allowance of sleep to a terrible degree.
I knew there could be no mistake, for I was going as far as the train went, and the guard would be sure to wake me up if I was fast asleep.
And how satisfactory it seemed to be lying there on the soft cushions instead of walking about the works and the yard the previous night. I was growing more and more sleepy, the motion of the train serving to lull me; and then, all at once, I was wide-awake staring at the bubble of glass that formed the lamp in the ceiling, and wondering where I was.
I recollected directly and glanced at my fellow-traveller, to see that he was a little uneasy, one of his legs being off the seat; but he was breathing heavily, and evidently fast asleep.