again he could not help thinking of his
room with the white hangings, and of how pleasant it would be to take
off his clothes once more and lie between sheets.

"Some chaps is always thinking about going to bed," said Bob jauntily.
"Long as I gets a nap now and then, that's all I want."

Dexter did not know it, but Bob Dimsted was a thorough-paced second-hand
boy. Every expression of this kind was an old one, such as he had heard
from his father, or the rough men who consorted with him, from the
bullying down to the most playful remark. But, as aforesaid, Dexter did
not realise all this. He had only got as far as the fact that Bob was
not half so nice as he used to be, and that, in spite of his boasting
and bullying, he was not very brave when put to the test.

"There, I shan't go to sleep yet. You can have one o' them cushins
forward," said Bob at last; and, suffering now from a sudden feeling of
weariness, Dexter took one of the cushions forward, placed it so as to
be as comfortable as possible, realising as he did this that, in spite
of his words, Bob was doing the same with two cushions to his one, and
before he had been lying there long, listening to the rippling of the
water, and gazing up at the stars, a hoarse, wheezing noise proclaimed
the fact that Bob Dimsted was once more fast asleep.

Dexter was weary now in the extreme, the exertion and excitement he had
gone through had produced, in connection with the irregular feeding, a
state of fatigue that under other circumstances might have resulted in
his dropping off at once, but now he could only lie and listen, and keep
his eyes dilated and wide open, staring for some danger which seemed as
if it must be near.

He did not know what the danger might be, unless it was that man with
the boat, but something seemed to threaten, and he could not sleep.

Then, too, he felt obliged to think about Bob and about their journey.
Where they were going, what sort of a place it would be, and whether
they would be any more happy when they got to some beautiful island; for
he was fain to confess that matters were very miserable now, and that
the more he saw of Bob Dimsted the less he liked him.

He was in the midst of one of his thoughtful moods, with Bob for his
theme, and asking himself what he should do if Bob did begin to thrash
him first time they were on shore; and he had just come to the
conclusion that he would not let Bob thrash him if he could help it,
whe