e, wake up, bumpkin,
you're half stupid now."

"I'm quite awake, Sam. Had a pleasant day? I say, were you sitting on
my head?"

"Was I doing what?" cried Sam. "No, I wasn't; but you want some one to
sit upon you to bring you to your senses. Wake up; I want to talk."

Tom tried to rub the last traces of his drowsiness out of his eyes, and
now sat up watching his cousin, who, after taking off collar and tie,
unfastened his braces, and then, as if moved by a sudden thought, he
tied the aforesaid suspenders about his waist. Then, grinning to
himself, he stooped down, untied his Oxford shoes, pushed them off, took
up one, and shouting "_Play_!" bowled it sharply at Tom where he sat up
in bed on the other side of the room.

It was a bad shot, for the shoe whizzed by the lad's side, and struck
the scroll-work of the iron bedstead with a sharp rap, and fell on the
pillow.

"Play again!" cried Sam, and he sent the second shoe spinning with a
vicious energy at the still confused and sleepy boy.

This time the aim was excellent, and Tom was too helpless to avoid the
missile, which struck him heavily, the edge of the heel catching him on
the chin, and making him wince.

"Well played--well bowled!" cried Sam, laughing boisterously. "I say,
bumpkin, that's the way to wake you up."

Tom's face grew dark, and the hand which he held to his injured face
twitched as if the fingers were trying to clench themselves and form a
fist for their owner's defence; but the boy did not stir, only sat
looking at his cousin, who now struck an attitude, made two or three
feints, and then dashed forward hitting out sharply, catching Tom in the
chest, and knocking him backward so heavily that it was his crown now
that struck the scroll-work of the bed.

"That's your sort, countryman," cried Sam. "How do you like that
style?"

"Don't! Be quiet, will you," said the boy in a suffocated voice, as he
sat up once more.

"What for?" cried Sam. "Here, get up and have a round with the gloves.
I feel as if I can hit to-night. It's the rowing. My arms are as hard
as wood."

"No; be quiet," said Tom huskily. "They'll hear you down-stairs."

"Let 'em," said Sam, chuckling to himself as he dragged open a drawer,
and brought out a couple of pairs of boxing-gloves, two of which he
hurled with all his might like a couple of balls at his cousin's head.

But the boy was wide-awake now, and caught each glove in turn, letting
it fall afterwards