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It
reminded
us
,
for
the
first
time
since
our
being
called
,
of
his
existence
.
There
he
lay
--
the
man
who
had
wanted
to
know
what
time
he
should
wake
us
--
on
his
back
,
with
his
mouth
wide
open
,
and
his
knees
stuck
up
.
I
do
n't
know
why
it
should
be
,
I
am
sure
;
but
the
sight
of
another
man
asleep
in
bed
when
I
am
up
,
maddens
me
.
It
seems
to
me
so
shocking
to
see
the
precious
hours
of
a
man
's
life
--
the
priceless
moments
that
will
never
come
back
to
him
again
--
being
wasted
in
mere
brutish
sleep
.
There
was
George
,
throwing
away
in
hideous
sloth
the
inestimable
gift
of
time
;
his
valuable
life
,
every
second
of
which
he
would
have
to
account
for
hereafter
,
passing
away
from
him
,
unused
.
He
might
have
been
up
stuffing
himself
with
eggs
and
bacon
,
irritating
the
dog
,
or
flirting
with
the
slavey
,
instead
of
sprawling
there
,
sunk
in
soul-clogging
oblivion
.
It
was
a
terrible
thought
.
Harris
and
I
appeared
to
be
struck
by
it
at
the
same
instant
.
We
determined
to
save
him
,
and
,
in
this
noble
resolve
,
our
own
dispute
was
forgotten
.
We
flew
across
and
slung
the
clothes
off
him
,
and
Harris
landed
him
one
with
a
slipper
,
and
I
shouted
in
his
ear
,
and
he
awoke
.
"
Wasermarrer
?
"
he
observed
,
sitting
up
.
"
Get
up
,
you
fat-headed
chunk
!
"
roared
Harris
.
"
It
's
quarter
to
ten
.
"
"
What
!
"
he
shrieked
,
jumping
out
of
bed
into
the
bath
;
"
Who
the
thunder
put
this
thing
here
?
"
We
told
him
he
must
have
been
a
fool
not
to
see
the
bath
.
We
finished
dressing
,
and
,
when
it
came
to
the
extras
,
we
remembered
that
we
had
packed
the
tooth-brushes
and
the
brush
and
comb
(
that
tooth-brush
of
mine
will
be
the
death
of
me
,
I
know
)
,
and
we
had
to
go
downstairs
,
and
fish
them
out
of
the
bag
.
And
when
we
had
done
that
George
wanted
the
shaving
tackle
.
