* * * * *
The sun was high when Steve woke. He rose stiffly and went into the
other room. William Bannister still slept.
Steve regarded him admiringly.
"For the dormouse act," he mused, "that kid certainly stands alone. You
got to hand it to him."
An aching void within him called his mind to the question of breakfast.
It began to come home to him that he had not planned out this
expedition with that thoroughness which marks the great general.
"I guess I'll have to get out to the nearest village in the bubble," he
said. "And while I'm there maybe I'd better send Kirk a wire. And I
reckon I'll have to take the kid. If he wakes up and finds me gone
he'll throw fits. Up you get, squire."
He kneaded the recumbent form of his godson with a large hand until he
had massaged out of him the last remains of his great sleep. It took
some time, but it was effective. The White Hope sat up, full of life
and energy. He inspected Steve gravely for a moment, endeavouring to
place him.
"Hello, Steve," he said at length.
"Hello, kid."
"Where am I?"
"In the country. In Connecticut."
"What's 'Necticut?"
"This is. Where we are."
"Where are we?"
"Here. In Connecticut."
"Why?"
Steve raised a protesting hand.
"Not so early in the day, kid; not before breakfast," he pleaded.
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