snored, Simmons hated him more bitterly than ever. Why should
Losson be able to sleep when Simmons had to stay awake hour after
hour, tossing and turning on the tapes, with the dull liver pain
gnawing into his right side and his head throbbing and aching
after Canteen? He thought over this for many, many nights, and the
world became unprofitable to him. He even blunted his naturally
fine appetite with beer and tobacco; and all the while the parrot
talked at and made a mock of him.

The heat continued and the tempers wore away more quickly than
before. A Sergeant's wife died of heat-apoplexy in the night, and
the rumour ran abroad that it was cholera. Men rejoiced openly,
hoping that it would spread and send them into camp. But that was
a false alarm.

It was late on a Tuesday evening, and the men were waiting in the
deep double verandahs for "Last Post," when Simmons went to the
box at the foot of his bed, took out his pipe, and slammed the lid
down with a bang that echoed through the deserted barrack like the
crack of a rifle. Ordinarily speaking, the men would have taken no
notice; but their nerves were fretted to fiddle-strings. They
jumped up, and three or four clattered into the barrack-room only
to find Simmons kneeling by his box.

"Ow! It's you, is it?" they said, and laughed foolishly. "We
thought 'twas -"

Simmons rose slowly. If the accident had so shaken his fellows,
what would not the reality do?