five
o'clock
`` As it will probably be my last , I guess I will , '' says he . Honest , the old gent was so sure he 'd croak before mornin ' that he wanted to write some farewell letters , but he was too done up for that . I tucked him into a spare bed , opened all the windows , and before I could turn out the light he was sawin ' wood like a hired man . He was still workin ' the fog horn when I went in to rout him out at five o'clock . It was a tough job gettin ' him up , but I got him out of his trance at last . `` Come on , '' says I , `` we 've got to do our three miles and have a rub-down before breakfast . '' First off he swore he could n't move , and I guess he was some stiff from his sprint the day before , but by the time he 'd got out where the birds was singin ' , and the trees and grass looked like they 'd been done over new durin ' the night , I was able to coax him into a dog-trot .