There was nothing. No pain.
Not now. Perfectly right--but he couldn't enjoy his healthful repose
unless some one was by to see it. This man would do as well as anybody.
Donkin watched him stealthily:--"Soon home now," observed Wait.--"Vy
d'yer whisper?" asked Donkin with interest, "can't yer speak up?"
Jimmy looked annoyed and said nothing for a while; then in a
lifeless, unringing voice:--"Why should I shout? You ain't deaf that I
know."--"Oh! I can 'ear right enough," answered Donkin in a low tone,
and looked down. He was thinking sadly of going out when Jimmy spoke
again.--"Time we did get home... to get something decent to eat... I am
always hungry." Donkin felt angry all of a sudden.--"What about me,"
he hissed, "I am 'ungry too an' got ter work. You, 'ungry!"--"Your work
won't kill you," commented Wait, feebly; "there's a couple of biscuits
in the lower bunk there--you may have one. I can't eat them." Donkin
dived in, groped in the corner and when he came up again his mouth
was full. He munched with ardour. Jimmy seemed to doze with open eyes.
Donkin finished his hard bread and got up.--"You're not going?" asked
Jimmy, staring at the ceiling.
Pages:
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234