But he finally convinced himself of consciousness. The room was fairly light, for in the November sky the remains of what had been a full moon was sinking westward. There was plenty of light to make easy recognition of the white-clad figure. Ned blinked a moment and then stared. Cal was lifting the lid of his trunk. Ned wanted to ask him what he was doing, but he was very sleepy. [Cal] fumbled about the trunk till a moment, then closed the lid again and arose. Ned expected to see him get back into bed, but he did nothing of the sort. Instead he walked leisurely around the end of the two beds, [knelt in front of Ned’s bureau and opened the bottom drawer].
“Great Scott,” thought Ned, “he’s after an apple! What a joke if he got a rotten one!”
He could hear Cal pushing the apples about and grinned as he recalled the fact that, after all, they had forgotten to sort the bad ones out. Presently Cal stood upright again, turned and retraced his steps toward the farther side of his own bed. If he had found an apple to his liking, at least he was not eating it. Ned lifted himself on one elbow.
“Couldn’t you find a good one?” he asked with a chuckle.
There was no response.
“Oh, I saw you, Cal,” he said. “You’ll have tummy-ache if you eat apples at this time of night.”
Cal stepped silently into bed and pulled the clothes up. It was then that Ned realized that his roommate had been walking in his sleep! How he knew it he couldn’t have told, for he had never seen a performance of the kind before. Perhaps it was the deliberation of Cal’s movements about the room that gave him the hint. At all events, he was positive that Cal was a—a somnam—well, whatever it was! It was a little bit uncanny at first and Ned felt a creepy sensation along his spine. By that time Cal’s breathing was long and regular and Ned’s first impulse to awaken him passed. It would be a shame to spoil a sleep like that; besides, Ned had an idea that he had once read that to awaken a—a somnambulist—that was it; somnambulist!—was dangerous; dangerous to the somnambulist, that is. No, he would let Cal slumber on and tell him about it in the morning. Besides, he was sort of sleepy himself! He yawned, turned over and was soon back in dreamland.
The morning dawned bright and crisp and the breeze that stole in the open window tingled the nostrils. Cal’s bare feet—as usual he was the first out of bed—pattered hurriedly across the floor and the window closed with a crash that awoke Ned. Cal returned to his couch, sat down on the edge of it, shivering, and tried to remember what it was that he had dreamed during the night. It was a very unpleasant dream; something about burglars. That came of keeping so much money on hand, he reflected; it was enough to make any fellow uneasy and give him bad dreams! Of course that money was all right, but he cal’lated he’d have a look. So he thrust his feet into a pair of slippers and went over to the trunk.
“Hello,” said Ned, with a sigh, “what sort of a day is it?”
“Bully,” answered Cal, lifting the lid of the trunk. Ned looked across and recollection of last night came to him. He chuckled.