"That's a magnificent excuse," he said.
"I thought you'd think it was," said the major, with a pleased smile. "And when I finally found that there weren't any mirrors to be had along the road I went back, and you two had gone and left me."
"And what did you do then?" asked Jimmieboy.
"I wrote a poem on sleep. It's a great thing, sleep is, and I wrote the lines off in two tenths of a fifth of a second. As I remember it, this is the way they went:
"SLEEP.
Deserted by my friends I sit,
And silently I weep,
Until I'm wearied so by it,
I lose my little store of wit;
I nod and fall asleep.
Then in my dreams my friends I spy—
Once more are they my own.
I cease to murmur and to cry,
For then 'tis sure to be that I
Forget I am alone.
'Tis hence I think that sleep's the best
Of friends that man has got—
Not only does it bring him rest
But makes him feel that he is blest
With blessings he has not."
"Why didn't you go to sleep if you felt that way?" said Jimmieboy.
"I wanted to find you and I hadn't time. There was only time for me to scratch that poem off on my mind and start to find you and Bludgeyboy," replied the major.