At the present moment he was counting under his breath. He knew the orderly's round, and knew to a nicety how long it would take him to get back to tent No. 7. He allowed ninety seconds, and he had just got as far as "eighty-seven, eighty-eight, eighty-nine," when he suddenly stood bolt upright in his roll of blankets, thereby performing a wonderful gymnastic feat, and looking, with his sleeping cap over his head and ears, not unlike a Turk preparing for his morning ablutions.
Evidently he had heard some soft stealthy tread on the grass outside, for exactly at "ninety" the woolly head of Corporal Yap appeared at the door once more, and his yapping voice called:
"Caught you this time, you trilobite. Out you come! Can't say I didn't give you warning, Cowdie!"
Then catching sight of his man in the grey morning light, the Corporal gasped, and fell back a pace or two.
"The deuce! Do you sleep standing up, man?"
"Sometimes," replied the Spare Part. "M.O.'s orders. Number Nine told me to do so the last time I reported sick."
"Where are you going to? About to have a Turkish bath, I s'pose; all right, my man, I'll catch you yet. If you're not on parade in twelve minutes, bath or no bath, you're for it. D'y'understand?"
"Yes, Corporal, but I'm not going to have a bath. They're dangerous. Number Nine ordered me not to. Said I'd got a murmuring heart, he did," replied the Spare Part meekly.
"Murmuring heart, have you? Then where are you goin' to in that rig?"
"Ain't goin' anywhere; Corporal. I'm standin' still."