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Altsheler, Joseph A. (Joseph Alexander), 1862-1919

"The Hosts of the Air"

It
beckoned him toward the east, and hope rose strong in his heart.
"Wharton," he said, "I suppose we'll stay awhile in Chastel."
"So I hear. Until noon at least."
"Then you wake me three hours from now. It will be enough sleep at such
a time, and I want to be up when Lannes comes. You promise?"
"Certainly, Scott, I'll do it, though you'll probably swear at me for
bothering you. Still, I'm ready to do any unpleasant duty for a friend
when he asks it."
John laughed, went into the tent, rolled himself in the blankets and in
a minute was fast asleep. In another minute, as it seemed, Wharton was
pulling vigorously at his shoulder.
"Get up, Scott!" exclaimed Wharton. "Your three hours, and a half hour's
grace that I allowed you, have passed. Didn't I tell you that you'd be
ungrateful and that you'd fight against me for fulfilling your request!
Open your eyes, man, and stand up!"
John sprang to his feet, shook his head violently several times, and
then was wide awake.
"Thanks, Wharton," he said. "You're a true friend but you're a wretched
reckoner of time."
"How so?"
"You said it was three hours and a half when in reality it was only
three minutes and a half."
But a clear wintry sun was shining in at the door of the tent, and he
saw its gold across the snow. Beyond was a kitchen automobile at which
men were obtaining coffee and food.


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