“Hello,” said Tom, opening the door and scratching a match to light the candle in a lantern hanging near him.
There was no response. Tom held the lantern and pushed the sleeping man with his foot.
“Here, you—wake up.”
The man rolled over, blinking at them in the light. “Hello, comrade, what you want?”
“Get up,” said Tom, commandingly.
“What for?” asked the sleeper, yawningly.
“To get out of this. I’ll find you another sleeping-place.”
“Oh, come, comrade,” said the man, remonstratingly, “this is cruelty to animals. I was having the sleep of my life—like drugged sleep—takes me back to my boyhood. Move on, and let me begin again. Your diamonds are safe to-night. I’ve had a first-class supper, and I’m having a first-class sleep. I wouldn’t get up to finger the jewels of the Emperor of Russia.”
“Get up,” said Tom, inexorably.