Captain Jonsen set the little monkeyfied sailor, who had been so mortified earlier in the evening, to clear the schooner’s fore-hold. The warps and brooms and fenders it contained were all piled to one side, and a sufficiency of bedclothes for the guests was provided from the plunder. But nothing could now thaw them. They clambered down the ladder and received their blanket apiece in an uncomfortable silence. Jonsen hung about, anxious to be helpful in this matter of getting into beds which were not there, but not knowing how to set about it. So he gave it up at last, and swung himself up through the fore-hatch, talking to himself. The last they saw of him was his fantastic slippers, hanging each from a big toe, outlined against the stars: but it never entered their heads to laugh. Once, however, the familiar comfort of a blanket under their chins had begun to have its effect, and they were obviously quite alone, a little life did begin to return into these dumb statues. The darkness was profound, only accentuated by the starlit square of the open hatchway. First the long silence was broken by some one turning over, almost freely. Then presently: LAURA (_in slow sepulchral tones_). I don’t like this bed. RACHEL (_ditto_). I do. LAURA. It’s a horrid bed; there isn’t any! EMILY. } } Sh! Go to sleep! JOHN. } EDWARD. I smell cockroaches. EMILY. Sh! EDWARD (_loudly and hopefully_). They’ll bite all our nails off, because we haven’t washed, and our skin, and our hair, and---- LAURA. There’s a cockroach in my bed! Get out! (_You could hear the brute go zooming away. But Laura was already out too._) EMILY. Laura! Go back to bed! LAURA. I can’t when there’s a cockroach in it! JOHN. Get into bed again, you little fool! He’s gone long ago! LAURA. But I expect he has left his wife. HARRY. They don’t have wives, they’re wives themselves. RACHEL. Ow!--Laura, stop it!--Emily, Laura’s walking on me! EMILY. Lau-RER! LAURA. Well, I must walk on something! EMILY. Go to sleep! (_Silence for a while._) LAURA. I haven’t said my prayers. EMILY. Well, say them lying down. RACHEL. She mustn’t, that’s lazy. JOHN. Shut up, Rachel, she must. RACHEL. It’s wicked! You go to sleep in the middle then. People who go to sleep in the middle ought to be damned, they ought.--Oughtn’t they? (_Silence._) Oughtn’t they? (_Still silence._) Emily, I say, oughtn’t they? JOHN. NO! RACHEL (_dreamily_). I think there’s lots more people ought to be damned than are. (_Silence again._) HARRY. Marghie. (_Silence._) Marghie! (_Silence._) JOHN. What’s up with Marghie? Won’t she speak? (_A faint sob is heard._) HARRY. I don’t know. (_Another sob._) JOHN. Is she often like this? HARRY. She’s an awful ass sometimes. JOHN. Marghie, what’s up? MARGARET (_miserably_). Let me alone! RACHEL. I believe she’s frightened! (_Chants tauntingly_) Marghie’s got the bogies, the bogies, the bogies!