Every one else had some suggestion to make, but the doer of the deed was not found; and Dicky Drake swallowed his fury, reslung his hammock and turned in.
We were all tired and sleepy. I, at least, was soon in the arms of Morpheus, dreaming of the land I had left, and of the bright eyes that would look so long in vain for my return.
CHAPTER IV. A PRIZE AND A JOHN BULL.
Butler. Footman, why art so happy? Art going to be married?
Footman. No, meester.
B. Then thou art married already, and art going to be divorced?
F. No, meester.
B. What then?
F. I've drawn a prize.