him to overlook the fact that no preparations had been made to welcome
him on his arrival at his destination. He had treated the shack as if
it had been a summer hotel, where he could walk in and engage a room.
It now struck him that there was much to be attended to before he
could, as he put it to himself, hit the hay. There was the White Hope's
bed to be made, and, by the way of a preliminary to that, sheets must
be found and blankets, not to mention pillows.
Yawning wearily he set out on his search.
He found sheets, but mistrusted them. They might or might not be
perfectly dry. He did not care to risk his godson's valuable health in
the experiment. A hazy notion that blankets were always safe restored
his spirits, and he became cheerful on reflecting that a child with
William Bannister's gift for sleep would not be likely to notice the
absence of linen in his bed.
The couch which he finally passed adequate would have caused Lora
Delane Porter's hair to stand erect, but it satisfied Steve. He went
downstairs, and, returning with William Bannister, placed him carefully
on it and tucked him in. The White Hope slept on.
Having assured himself that all was well, Steve made up a similar nest
for himself, and, removing his coat and shoes, crawled under the
blankets. Five minutes later rhythmical snores proclaimed the fact that
nature had triumphed over all the discomforts of one of the worst-made
beds in Connecticut.
* * * * *
The sun was high when Steve woke. He rose stiffly and went into the
other room. William Bannister still slept.
Steve regarded him admiringly.
'For the dormouse act,' he mused, 'that kid certainly stands alone. You
got to hand it to him.'
An aching void within him called his mind to the question of breakfast.
It began to come home to him that he had not planned out this
expedition with that thoroughness which marks the great general.
'I guess I'll have to get out to the nearest village in the bubble,' he
said. 'And while I'm there maybe I'd better send Kirk a wire. And I
reckon I'll have to take the kid. If he wakes up and finds me gone
he'll throw fits. Up you get, squire.'
He kneaded the recumbent form of his godson with a large hand until he
had massaged out of him the last remains of his great sleep. It took
some time, but it was effective. The White Hope sat up, full of life
and energy. He inspected Steve gravely for a moment, endeavouring to
place him.
'Hello, Steve,' he said at length.
'Hello, kid.'
'Where am I?'
'In the country. In Connecticut.'
'What's 'Necticut?'
'This is. Where we are.'
'Where are we?'
'Here. In Connecticut.'
'Why?'
