“Can’t sleep at all,” I answered. “But don’t let me disturb you.”
“You’re not disturbing me, old man. I can’t sleep either. Let’s light the lamp and smoke.”
Accordingly we fished out our pipes and relighted the acetylene lamp, which hung from the middle hoop. Jack turned over in his sleep.
“Put out the light, old fellow. Not a cab’net meeting, y’know,” he murmured drowsily. And by way of compromise I pulled the primitive draught curtain between the two boats, and as I sat up to do so I noticed with a start that Dennis wore a worried look I had never seen before. I lay back, got my pipe going, and waited for him to speak.
“I wonder,” he said presently, through the clouds of smoke that hung imprisoned beneath our shallow roof—“I wonder if there would have been any war if the Germans smoked Jamavana?”
“What’s worrying you, Den?” I asked, ignoring his question.
“Worrying me? Why, nothing. I’ve got nothing to worry about. What about you, though? I don’t want to butt in on your private affairs, but you’ve a lot more to be worried about than I have.”
“I? Oh, nonsense, Dennis,” I protested.
“None of that with me, Ron. You know what I mean. There’s no point in either of us concealing things. This war is going to make a big difference to you and Myra McLeod. Now, tell me all about it. What do you mean to do, and everything?”