Chapter Seventeen.
Perry’s Horror.
“How do you feel, Cil?” said Perry, in the middle of that same night.
“Horrible. Can’t sleep. I am hot and itchy, and all of a fidget about things.”
“Father said we were to take things coolly, when he said good-night.”
“Didn’t say how, did he?” whispered Cyril. “I shall be so glad when we begin doing something. Anything’s better than this waiting to begin. I say—”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t it near morning?”
“No, it ain’t,” said a gruff voice in an ill-used tone. “How’s a man to get a good sleep before he relieves the colonel, if you two young gents keep on twisting about and talking?”