"I feel like a stewed owl," was Joe's comment.
"Never ate stewed owl," returned his brother promptly. "How does it taste?"
"I said I felt, I didn't say I ate," retorted Joe. "Gee, but your eyes do look bunged up."
"What about your own?"
"Oh, if only I had had just one more hour's sleep!"
"I could go two or three."
"Aunt Gertrude was onto us."
"Yes, but she didn't get anywhere with it."
"Hope I don't fall asleep over my desk."
"Same here."
The morning dragged. They were very sleepy. Once or twice, Joe yawned openly and Miss Petty, who taught history, accused him of lack of interest in the proceedings.
"You may keep yourself awake by telling us what you know of the Roman system of government under Julius Cæsar," she said.
Joe got to his feet. He floundered through a more or less acceptable account of Roman government. It was dreary stuff, and Frank, listening to the droning voice, became drowsier and drowsier. His head nodded, and finally he went to sleep altogether and had a vivid dream in which he chased Julius Cæsar, attired in a toga and with a laurel wreath on his head, along the Shore Road in a steam-roller.
