‘THE PUBLISHER, 117

“It is time to get up, Tom,” shouted I, shaking’ his
arm. ;

“ Get up, then,” he growled, roughly.

“But I am ill, Tom, and you remember what Mr.
Simpson said.”

No. Tom was not to be roused. He was not
going to get up such a stormy morning, so early,—not
he! He was not going to do it for Mr. Simpson, nor
for me, nor for anybody else,—not he! A was not
going to get up, if he mever did any more work!

How many are like Tom, when a demand is made
upon them for a little extra effort! No: they are not
going to work. so,—not they !

Now, it was evident somebody must get up, and it
must be, certainly, one of us. I felt I hada right to
sleep the night out that time. Besides, I feared it
might be hazardous.to get up, for I was in a profuse
perspiration, and the storm was raging violently. But
my own personal considerations had no more effect
upon my sluggish bedfellow than had his master’s .

* commands,