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Updated: June 23, 2025
You must be getting chilly in that wet sleeping-suit." "As a matter of fact I am, and I was wondering if you would not offer me something to drink." "You shall have a bottle to take along," I promised, with alacrity, but he demurred. "There is no sociability in that. And you seem very lonesome here stuck for two more hours at least. Come, Captain, fetch your bottle and we will share it together."
"Shall we ascend and prepare the sacrifice?" I leaned over the oars, panting from my exertions, indifferent to his rhapsody. "If you'll take my advice, you'll get back at once to your bungalow and strip off that wet sleeping-suit," I bluntly counseled him, but I might as well have argued with a man in a trance. He leaped over the gunwale and strode up the beach.
I had been so worried and restless running up and down that I had not had the patience to dress that day. I had remained in my sleeping-suit, with straw slippers and a soft floppy hat. The closeness of the heat in the gulf had been most oppressive, and the crew were used to see me wandering in that airy attire. "She will clear the south point as she heads now," I whispered into his ear.
Something of the tragedy of her wardrobe became evident to the girl and she went to the rescue. "I'm sorry, but they don't go in there," she said, feeling that an apology was due for her interference in such well-intended efforts. "That's you see, that's my sleeping-suit case," she added gently. "Sleepin'-soot?" A pair of round, wondering eyes stared out through the old woman's glasses.
Thirty-nine south. When I say a man " "Fit of temper," I suggested, confidently. The shadowy, dark head, like mine, seemed to nod imperceptibly above the ghostly grey of my sleeping-suit. It was, in the night, as though I had been faced by my own reflection in the depths of a sombre and immense mirror. "A pretty thing to have to own up to for a Conway boy," murmured my double, distinctly.
Paul lit a cigarette. Clara went upstairs, returning with a sleeping-suit, which she spread on the fender to air. "Why, I'd forgot all about THEM!" said Mrs. Radford. "Where have they sprung from?" "Out of my drawer." "H'm! You bought 'em for Baxter, an' he wouldn't wear 'em, would he?" laughing. "Said he reckoned to do wi'out trousers i' bed."
Ere we came on deck for our talk with Monty under the stars, we had changed into our coolest things. And now, awaiting his arrival, I lolled in my deck-chair, clothed in my Cambridge blue sleeping-suit, and Doe lay with his pink stripes peeping from beneath the grey embroidered kimono. It had become a regular practice, our nightly talk with Monty on what he called "Big Things."
Strong in my conviction that he would not have been able to resist lobster, I made ready his hot foot-bath with its solution of brine-crystals and put the absorbent fruit-lozenges close by, together with his sleeping-suit, his bed-cap, and his knitted night-socks. Scarcely was all ready when I heard his step.
The jacket of his grey-and-white striped flannel sleeping-suit was unfastened at the throat, showing the irregular lift and fall of his chest with each laboured breath. His features were accentuated, his face drawn and of a surprising pallor. The chair, in which he sat, had been brought forward into the wide arc of the great window forming the front of the room.
And to think that if it hadn't been for you, by now I should be in process of digestion by a lion, a stinking, mangy, sacred lion!" Next morning I was awakened by Higgs limping into my room in some weird sleeping-suit that he had contrived with the help of Quick. "I say, old fellow," he said, "tell me some more about that girl, Walda Nagasta. What a sweet face she's got, and what pluck!
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