But somehow he could not
move. Yet he was indubitably awake.
"Simeon!" he cried at length, and sat up.
The younger Cotterill did not stir.
"Sim!" he cried again, and, leaning over, shook the bed.
"What's up?" Simeon demanded, broad awake in a second, and, as usual,
calm, imperturbable.
"We've missed the train! It's ten--eight--minutes to seven," said
Arthur, in a voice which combined reproach and terror. And he sprang out
of bed and began with hysteric fury to sort out his garments.
Simeon turned slowly on his side and drew a watch from under his pillow.
Putting it close to his face, Simeon could just read the dial.
"It's all right," he said. "Still, you'd better get up. It's eight
minutes to six. We've got an hour and eighteen minutes."
"What do you mean? That clock was right last night."
"Yes. But I altered it."
"When?"
"After you got into bed."
"I never saw you."
"No. But I altered it."
"Why?"
"To be on the safe side."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"If I'd told you, I might just as well have not altered it. The man who
puts a clock on and then goes gabbling all over the house about what he
has done is an ass; in fact, to call him an ass is to flatter him.
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