“One of his sleeves is tore right away below the elber, and the t’other’s had a good rip at the shoulder. He’s been hung on to, pretty tight, for his shirt’s all tore out of the neck-gathers. He’s been in the grass and he’s been in the water. And he’s spotted, and I know with what, and with whose. Hooroar!”
Bradley slept long. Early in the afternoon a barge came down. Other barges had passed through, both ways, before it; but the lock-keeper hailed only this particular barge, for news, as if he had made a time calculation with some nicety. The men on board told him a piece of news, and there was a lingering on their part to enlarge upon it.
Twelve hours had intervened since Bradley’s lying down, when he got up. “Not that I swaller it,” said Riderhood, squinting at his lock, when he saw Bradley coming out of the house, “as you’ve been a sleeping all the time, old boy!”
Bradley came to him, sitting on his wooden lever, and asked what o’clock it was? Riderhood told him it was between two and three.
“When are you relieved?” asked Bradley.
“Day arter tomorrow, governor.”
“Not sooner?”
“Not a inch sooner, governor.”
On both sides, importance seemed attached to this question of relief. Riderhood quite petted his reply; saying a second time, and prolonging a negative roll of his head, “n—n—not a inch sooner, governor.”
“Did I tell you I was going on tonight?” asked Bradley.
“No, governor,” returned Riderhood, in a cheerful, affable, and conversational manner, “you did not tell me so. But most like you meant