Billy had broken suddenly into merriment. “I don’t believe Oscar owns a bath,” he explained.
“By Jove! so his notes will burn in spite of everything!” And both of the tennis boys shrieked foolishly.
Then Billy began taking his clothes off, strewing them in the window-seat, or anywhere that they happened to drop; and Bertie, after hitting another cork or two out of the window with the tennis racket, departed to his own room on another floor and left Billy to immediate and deep slumber. This was broken for a few moments when Billy’s room-mate returned happy from an excursion which had begun in the morning.
The room-mate sat on Billy’s feet until that gentleman showed consciousness.
“I’ve done it, said the room-mate, then.
“The hell you have!”
“You couldn’t do it.”
“The hell I couldn’t!”
“Great dinner.”
“The hell it was!”