So it was settled. Ten minutes later the room was dark, David was in bed, and Tom was lying in the space between the bed's foot and the wall, with David's coat for extra covering and with Browning's poems and a volume of Molière as a pillow. There was deep silence for another ten minutes, then a cautious whisper rose from the foot of the bed.
"Are you asleep?"
"No," said David.
"Say, why didn't you have me pinched?" the voice asked.
No answer.
The voice rose again. "Why did you gimme dat extry egg?"
No answer.
"Why did you ask me to stay here? Ain't you afraid I'll skin out wid your clo'es?"
Again there was no answer. But presently David said: "Better go to sleep, Tom."
There was a brief, deep silence; then once more the voice came from the foot of the bed. "I ain't just wise to you," said the voice, and there was a note of huskiness in it, "but say, pard, you gits my vote!"