“Get under your blankets, gents!” advised the guard, passing down the train; and then the train started.

I had the upper berth opposite Brown’s, where it was hottest of all because of the iron roof.  Drunk though he was, I noticed that the first thing Brown did after we had hoisted him aloft was to dig among the blankets like a dog and make the best shift he could of crawling under them.  With one blanket twisted about his neck and shoulders and the other tangled about his knees he remarked to the roof that his name was Brown of Lumbwa, and proceeded to sob himself to sleep.  He had made the journey a dozen times, so knew what he was doing.  I drew on my own blankets, and stifling, blowing out red dust, remembered a promise.

“Will!” I said.  “Tell Fred what happened to us in Zanzibar while he and Monty viewed the moon!”

“We agreed not to,” he answered, but it seemed to me he might arouse his own enthusiasm if he did tell.

“Who’s afraid of Fred?” said I.

That settled it.

“One of you shall tell before you sleep!” Fred announced, sitting up.  “Who feareth not God nor regardeth me will blench before the prospect of a sleepless night!  Speak, America!”

He took out a cleaning rod from his gun-case, and proceeded to stir Will’s ribs and whack his feet.  In a minute there was a rough-house—­panting, and bursts of laughter—­cracks of the cleaning rod on Will’s bare legs—­the sound of hands slipping on sweaty arms—­and

“Murder!” yelled Brown of Lumbwa, waking up.  “Murder!  Oh, mur-durrr!”

“Shut up, you fool!” I shouted at him.  But he only yelled the louder.

“I knew these tears were not for nothing!” he wailed.  “It was premonition!  Pass me the whisky!  Pass it up here!  Oh, look!  They’re at each other’s throats!  Murder!  Oh, mur-durrr!  Pass the whisky or I’ll come down and kill everybody in self-defense!  Murrrrr-durrr!”

They stopped fooling because his idiotic screams could be heard all down the train.

“There,” said Brown, “you see, I’ve saved two worthless lives!  Very foolish of me!  Pass the whisky!  See that I save a little for the morning!”

At that he fell asleep again; and because Fred threatened to start new commotion and wake him unless Will or I confessed at once, Will took up the tale, I leaning over the edge of my berth to prompt him.  Fred laughed all through the story, and finally crawled under his blanket again to lie chuckling at the underside of Brown of Lumbwa’s berth.

“I don’t see what we’ve scored by telling him,” said Will to me.  “We’ve merely given him a peg to hang jokes on!”

But I knew that now Will had told the story he would not, for very shame, withdraw from the venture until we should have demonstrated that no Lady Saffren Waldon, nor Sultan of Zanzibar, nor Germans, nor Arabs could make us afraid.  And it seemed to me that was sufficient accomplishment for one night.