"At the same time, I've known Tom Reade for a good many years, and his performance is always as good as his promise.
As for me, Mr.Blaisdell, I've just told you that Tom does my talking, but I back up all that he promises for me." "Pinkitty-plank-plink!" twanged Matt Rice's banjo, starting into another rollicking air.
"I guess it's taps, boys," called Blaisdell in his low but resonant voice.

"Look at the chief's tent; he's putting out his candles now." A glance at the gradually darkening walls of the chief engineers big tent showed that this was the case.
"We'll all turn in," nodded Blaisdell.
So Tom and Harry hastened to their tent, where they unfolded their camp cots and set them up.

There was not much bed-making.

The body of the cot was of canvas, and required no mattress.

From out of their baggage each took a small pillow and pair of blankets.
At this altitude the night was already rather chilly, despite the fact that it was July.
Rapidly undressing in the dark the young engineers crawled in between their blankets.
"Well, at last," murmured Harry, "we're engineers in earnest.
That is," he added rather wistfully, "if we last." "We've got to last," replied Tom in a low voice, hardly above a whisper, "and we're going to.