“Satan!” whined a smothered voice from beneath the bedclothes.
The case evidently was one which demanded heroic treatment. In an instant I whipped off the bedclothes; in another I received two violent blows full in the chest, which compelled me to give ground. The pillows were followed by the bolster, which I parried with a chair, the bolster by a sortie of the garrison in puris naturalibus. For a few seconds the mélée was furious, the air thick with flying missiles. By a common instinct we drew apart, with the intention of renewing the combat, when we heard quick blows upon the partition at the left, and scared voices from the chamber at the right demanding what was the matter. George dropped his pillow, and articulated in a broken voice, “Malediction! I am awake.”
“Come, gentlemen,” I urged, “if you are sufficiently diverted, dress yourselves, and let us be off. At the present moment you remind me of the half-armed warriors on the pediment of the Parthenon.”
“I take it you mean the frieze,” said George, with chattering teeth.
The colonel was on all-fours, picking up the different articles of his wardrobe from the four corners of the chamber. “My stocking,” said he, groping among the furniture.
“What do you call this?” inquired George, fishing the dripping article from the water-pitcher.
“Eh! where the deuce is my watch?” redemanded the colonel, still seeking.
“Perhaps this is yours?” George again suggested, drawing it, with mock dexterity, as he had seen Hermann do, from a boot-leg.
We quickly threw on our clothes, but at the moment of starting George put his hand into his breast and made a frightful grimace.
“What is it?” we both asked in one breath. “What is the matter?”