their memories, while I go and wash. What about calling Ned?"

At sound of his own name, Blake's eyes opened. His waking was
characteristic of him. It was no slow recovery of the senses; he was
asleep and then awake--fully, easily awake, with a complete
consciousness of his position--a complete, assured grasp of time and
place.

"We're getting on, eh?" he said. "I suppose you're going to tub before
those fat Belgians in the sleeping-car, Billy? If you are, keep a second
place for me, like a good boy. There's nothing more fiendishly
triumphant than taking a bath in the basin while the rest of the train
is rattling the door-handle. Don't forget! Second place!" Then he turned
to the American. "What about the coffee, Mac? I expect those poor devils
of waiters have slept your order off."

"I was just about to negotiate that coffee transaction." McCutcheon
stood up. "You come too, my son! A little exercise will give you an
appetite." He paused to stretch his long, lean body, and incidentally
his glance fell upon their travelling companion, and he indicated the
recumbent figure with a jerk of the head.

"Say, Ned, ought we to wake our unsociable friend?" Blake cast one quick
glance at the huddled form, then he answered, tersely: "Let him alone!
He's not asleep--and, anyway, he understands English."

At which McCutcheon made a comprehending grimace, and the two left the
carriage.

* * * * *