"Get some blankets for him, Mac." The top of the box folded back, revealing a bed inside.
"There, Kalman," said French, while Mackenzie arranged the blankets, "will that do ?" "Fine," said the boy, who could hardly keep his eyes open and who in five minutes after he had tumbled in was sound asleep.
It seemed as if he had been asleep but a few moments when he was wakened by a rude shock.

He started up to find Mackenzie fallen drunk and helpless across his bunk.
"Here, you pig!" French was saying in a stern undertone, "can't you tell when you have had enough?
Come out of that!" With an oath he dragged Mackenzie to his feet.
"Come, get to your bed!" "Oh, yes, yes," grumbled Mackenzie, "and I know well what you will be doing after I am in bed, and never a drop will you be leaving in that bottle." Mackenzie was on the verge of tears.
"Get on, you beast!" said French in tones of disgusted dignity, pushing the man before him into the next room.
Kalman was wide awake, but, feigning sleep, watched French as he sat with gloomy face, drinking steadily till even his hard head could stand no more, and he swayed into the inner room and fell heavily on the bed.

Kalman waited till French was fast asleep, then rising quietly, pulled off his boots, threw a blanket over him, put out the lamp and went back to the bunk.

The spectre of the previous night which had been laid by the events of the day came back to haunt his broken slumber.

For hours he tossed, and not till morning began to dawn did he quite lose consciousness.
Broad morning wakened him to unpleasant memories, and more unpleasant realities.