When Losson snored, Simmons hated him more bitterly than ever.
Why should Losson be able to sleep when Simmons had to stay awake hour after
hour, tossing and turning on the tapes, with the dull liver pain gnawing into
his right side and his head throbbing and aching after Canteen? He thought
over this for many nights, and the world became unprofitable to him. He even
blunted his naturally fine appetite with beer and tobacco; and all the while
the parrot talked at and made a mock of him.
The heat continued and the tempers wore away more quickly than before. A
Sergeant's wife died of heat-apoplexy in the night, and the rumor ran abroad
that it was cholera. Men rejoiced openly, hoping that it would spread and send
them into camp. But that was a false alarm.
It was late on a Tuesday evening, and the men were waiting in the deep double
verandas for "Last Posts," when Simmons went to the box at the foot of his
bed, took out his pipe, and slammed the lid down with a bang that echoed
through the deserted barrack like the crack of a rifle. Ordinarily speaking,
the men would have taken no notice; but their nerves were fretted to fiddle-
strings. They jumped up, and three or four clattered into the barrack-room
only to find Simmons kneeling by his box.
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