And what with looking at the shops, and parading up and down the public walks, and the entertainment at the Pump Room, to which we went with Mrs. Parafin, and all the rest of it, we felt uncommonly sleepy when night came, and were beginning to regard Pumpwater as a sort of Eden. * * * * * "Johnny, have you slept?" I was brushing my hair at the glass, under the morning sun, when John Whitney, half-dressed, and pale and languid, opened my door and thus accosted me. "Yes; like a top. Why? Is anything the matter, John?" "See here," said he, sinking into the easy-chair by the fireplace, "it is an odd thing, but I have again not slept. I _can't_ sleep." I put my back against the dressing-table and stood looking down at him, brush in hand. Not slept again! It _was_ an odd thing. "But what can be the reason, John?" "I am beginning to think it must be the room." "How can it be the room?" "I don't know. There's nothing the matter with the room that I can see; it seems well-ventilated; the chimney's not stopped up. Yet this is the third night that I cannot get to sleep in it." "But _why_ can you not get to sleep?" I persisted. "I say I don't know why. Each night I have been as sleepy as possible; last night I could hardly undress I was so sleepy; but no sooner am I in bed than sleep goes right away from me. Not only that: I grow terribly restless." Weighing the problem this way and that, an idea struck me. "John, do you think it is nervousness?" "How can it be? I never was nervous in my life." "I mean this: not sleeping the first night, you may have got nervous about it the second and third." He shook his head. "I have been nothing of the kind, Johnny. But look here: I hardly see what I am to do. I cannot go on like this without sleep; yet, if I tell the mother again, she'll say the air of the place does not suit me and run away from it----" "Suppose we change rooms to-night, John?" I interrupted. "I can't think but you would sleep here. If you do not, why, it must be the air of Pumpwater, and the sooner you are out of it the better." "You wouldn't mind changing rooms for one night?" he said, wistfully. "Mind! Why, I shall be the gainer. Yours is the better room of the two." At that it was settled; nothing to be said to any one about the bargain. We did not want to be kidnapped out of Pumpwater--and Lady Whitney had promised us a night at the theatre. Two or three more acquaintances were made, or found out, that day. Old Lady Scott heard of us, and came to call on Lady Whitney; they used to be intimate. She introduced some people at the Pump Room. Altogether, it seemed that we should not lack society. Night came; and John and I went upstairs together. He undressed in his own room, and I in mine; and then we made the exchange. I saw him into my bed and wished him a good-night. "Good-night, Johnny," he answered. "I hope you will sleep."