"Seems like it," said Bindle drily, as he turned on his heel and made for his own tent.
That night, he realised to the full the iniquities of the man who had supplied the straw for the mattresses. By the sounds that came from the other side of the tent-pole, he gathered that Mrs. Bindle was similarly troubled.
Towards dawn, Bindle began to doze, just as the cocks were announcing the coming of the sun. If the man with the stubbly chin were right in his diagnosis, the birds, like Prometheus, had, during the night, renewed their missing organisms.
"Well, I'm blowed!" muttered Bindle. "Ole six-foot-o'-melancholy wasn't swinging the lead neither. 'Oly ointment! I never 'eard such a row in all my puff. There ain't no doubt but wot Mrs. Bindle's gettin' a country 'oliday," and with that he rose and proceeded to draw on his trousers, deciding that it was folly to attempt further to seek sleep.
Outside the tent, he came across Patrol-leader Smithers.
"Mornin' Foch," said Bindle.
"Smithers," said the lad. "Patrol-leader Smithers of the Bear Patrol."
"My mistake," said Bindle; "but you an' Foch is jest as like as two peas. You don't 'appen to 'ave seen a stray cock about, do you?"
"A cock," repeated the boy.
"Yes!" said Bindle, tilting his head on one side with the air of one listening intently, whilst from all sides came the brazen blare of ecstatic chanticleers. "I thought I 'eard one just now."