After the game of Waterloo was over and the Napoleonic Fred had managed to collect the buttons which had been removed from his vest in the first half of the game, the Wellingtonian Jimmieboy decided that he was tired enough to go to bed, and inasmuch as Fred didn't oppose him very hard, to bed he went, and a half hour later both the boys, young and old, were snoring away as though their lives depended on it. It was quite evident that neither of them was as yet sufficiently strong to stand the game of Waterloo for more than an hour--and I don't really wonder at it, for my own experience has led me to believe that even Bonaparte and Wellington themselves would have been wearied beyond endurance by an hour's play at that diversion, however well they may have stood up under the anxieties of the original battle. In my first game with Jimmieboy I lost five pounds, eight buttons, a necktie, two handfuls of hair and a portion of my temper. So, as I say, I do not wonder that they were exhausted by their efforts and willing to rest after them, though how either of them could sleep with the other snoring as loud as a factory whistle I could never understand. Fred must have been unusually weary, for, as you will see, he slept more than Jimmieboy did--in fact, it wasn't later than nine o'clock when the latter waked up. "Say, Fred," he cried. Fred answered with a deeper snore than ever. "Fred!" cried Jimmieboy again. "I want a drink of water." "Puggrrh," snored Fred. "Stop your growling and ring the telephone for some ice water," said Jimmieboy, and again Fred answered with a snore, and in his sleep muttered something that sounded like "It'll cost you $10 next time," the meaning of which Jimmieboy didn't understand, but which I think had some reference to what it would cost his father to secure Fred as a companion for Jimmieboy on another occasion. "Guess I'll have to ring it up myself," said Jimmieboy, and with that he jumped out of bed and rushed to that delightful machine which is now to be found in most of the modern hotels, by means of which you can ring up anything you may happen to want, by turning a needle about on a dial until it points to the printed description of the thing you desire and pushing a red button. "Wonder how they spell ice water," said Jimmieboy. "E-y-e spells I, and s-e spells sss-e-y-e-s-e, ice." But he looked in vain for any such thing on the dial. "O, well," he said, after searching and searching, "I'll ring up anything, and when the boy comes with it I'll order the ice water." So he gave the needle an airy twist, pushed the button, and sat down to wait for the boy. Meanwhile he threw a pillow at Fred, who still lay snoring away on the sofa, only now he was puffing like a freight train engine when its wheels slip on an icy railway track.