"Well, I shan't either," said the other hopelessly. "I've forgotten how to sleep!" "Wait till I learn you!" said Raffles, and went into the inner room and lit it up. "I'm terribly sorry about it all," whispered young Garland, turning to me as though we were old friends now. "And I'm sorry for you," said I from my heart. "I know what it is." Garland was still staring when Raffles returned with a tiny bottle from which he was shaking little round black things into his left palm. "Clean sheets yawning for you, Teddy," said he. "And now take two of these, and one more spot of whisky, and you'll be asleep in ten minutes." "What are they?" "Somnol. The latest thing out, and quite the best." "But won't they give me a frightful head?" "Not a bit of it; you'll be as right as rain ten minutes after you wake up. And you needn't leave this before eleven to-morrow morning, because you don't want a knock at the nets, do you?" "I ought to have one," said Teddy seriously. But Raffles laughed him to scorn. "They're not playing you for runs, my man, and I shouldn't run any risks with those hands. Remember all the chances they're going to lap up to-morrow, and all the byes they've not got to let!" And Raffles had administered his opiate before the patient knew much more about it; next minute he was shaking hands with me, and the minute after that Raffles went in to put out his light. He was gone some little time; and I remember leaning out of the window in order not to overhear the conversation in the next room. The night was nearly as fine as ever. The starry ceiling over the Albany Courtyard was only less beautifully blue than when Raffles and I had come in a couple of hours ago. The traffic in Piccadilly came as crisply to the ear as on a winter's night of hard frost. It was a night of wine, and sparkling wine, and the day at Lord's must surely be a day of nectar. I could not help wondering whether any man had ever played in the University match with such a load upon his soul as E.M. Garland was taking to his forced slumbers; and then whether any heavy-laden soul had ever hit upon two such brother confessors as Raffles and myself! CHAPTER III Council of War