"Dis iss some games vot two can blay ad, my poy," chuckled Carl. "I vill shleep py der machine mit you."
"Go on!" scoffed Matt. "What's the use of denying yourself a good bed when you can just as well have one?"
"Vell, I dredder shtay mit you. Don'd say nodding, pecause it vasn't any use. My mindt iss made oop, yah, you bed you."
"All right, then," said Matt. "Curl up on the steering-wheel and enjoy yourself."
The front seat, of course, was divided into two sections, so it was impossible for Carl to stretch himself out in it; however, he wrapped his blanket around him and crowded down between the seat and the dash, head and shoulders over the foot-board on one side, and his feet tangled up in the foot-pedals and levers on the other.
Just as Matt was getting to sleep a wild honk, honk! brought him up like a shot out of a gun.
"What's that?" called Matt.
"Dot vas my feets," explained Carl coolly. "I hit dem against dot rupper pag vat makes a noise. Oof der car vas vider, den I vouldn't be too long for der blace vat I am. Meppy I puy somet'ing else don gofermend ponds mit dot money. Meppy, yah—so——" and Carl's words drifted off into a snore.
Matt settled down again, and this time nothing disturbed him.
Carl had some bad dreams that night. He thought his feet were caught in a giant clothes-wringer, and that a locomotive was hitched to his head. Some one would run him through the wringer, flattening him out up to the knees, and then the locomotive would back up and pull him out again. When his dreams had tired him out with that set of incidents, they shut him up in a little tin box, and three men on horseback played football with him; other experiences, too numerous to mention, followed, and at the wind-up Carl thought he dropped several miles through the air and smashed through a skylight. Starting up with a groan, he rubbed his eyes and looked around.