At 11.40 Barnes returned with a large black bottle, which he held out to Bindle with an invitation to "'ave a drink."
Bindle removed the cork and put the bottle to his lips, and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down joyously.
"Ah!" he cried, as he at length lowered the bottle and his head at the same time. "That's the stuff to give 'em," and reluctantly he handed back the bottle to its owner, who hastily withdrew at the sight of Mrs. Bindle approaching.
When she had taken her departure, Bindle began to feel drowsy. The sun was hot, the air was still, and the world was very good to live in. Still, there was the field-kitchen to be looked after.
For some time he struggled against the call of sleep; but do what he would, his head continued to nod, and his eyelids seemed weighted with lead.
Suddenly he had an inspiration. If he stoked-up the field-kitchen, it would look after itself, and he could have just the "forty winks" his nature craved.
With feverish energy he set to work with the shovel, treating the two stacks of coal and coke with entire impartiality. Then, when he had filled the furnace, he closed the door with the air of the Roman sentry relieving himself of responsibility by setting a burglar-alarm. Getting well out of the radius of the heat caused by the furnace, he composed himself to slumber behind the heap of coke.
Suddenly he was aroused from a dream in which he stood on the deck of a wrecked steamer, surrounded by steam which was escaping with vicious hisses from the damaged boilers.
He sat up and looked about him. The air seemed white with vapour, in and out of which two figures could be seen moving. He struggled to his feet and looked about him.
A few yards away he saw Mrs. Bindle engaged in throwing water at the field-kitchen, and then dashing back quickly to escape the smother of steam that resulted. The bishop, with a bucket and a pink-and-blue jug, was dashing water on to the monster's back.