What possessed him to get up at six, when he was not to start till nine, I cannot say. He even routed me from under his pillow at five, so fidgety was he, and as soon as ever I pointed to six he bounced out of bed as if he was shot.
“What are you up to, getting up at this time?” growled Jim, who, much to the mutual delight of the boys, slept in the same room with Charlie.
“Oh, you know; I don’t want to be behindhand,” replied Charlie.
“Behindhand! Why, do you know it’s only just six?”
“I know that, and I mean to make the most of my holiday. I say, Jim, what do they want to give us a holiday for, do you know?”
“They don’t want to at all; they’ve got to.”
“Got to? What do you mean?” inquired Charlie, dragging on his boots.
And then Jim, with many yawns and growls, told him the story; and, without waiting for his comments thereon, rolled over and went off to sleep again.
Charlie spent his early hour in polishing up things generally. When he had polished up his rod with the lance-wood top, he polished up his green can and his hooks. Then he warmed me up with a piece of wash-leather, and then his many-fanged knife.
By the time these little jobs were accomplished, and Joe’s study put in order, the breakfast bell sounded, and he went down with a mouth sore with whistling.