our bull terrier, rex, slept in the hall. my bed was an army cot, one of those affairs made wide enough to sleep on comfortableably only by putting up flat with the middle section, the two sides which ordinarily hang down like a drop leaf table. when these sides are up, it is perilous to roll too far near the edge where then the cot is likely to tich completely over, brirnging the whole bed down on top of one with a tremendous crash. this is in fact precisely what happened about 2:00 in the morning. always a deep sleeper, slow to arouse, i had lied to briggs. i was at first unconscious of what had happened when the iron cot rolled me on to the floor and toppled over op me. it left me still warmly bundled up and unhurt, for the bed rested like a canopy. hence, i did not wake up, only reached the edge of consciousness and went back. the racquet, however, instantly awakened my mother who came to
the conclusion the big wooden bed had fallen on father. she therefore screamed, let s go to your poor father! it was this shout rather than the noise of my cot falling that awakened herman, in the same room with her. he thought mother had become for no apparent reason, hysterical. you re all right, mama! he shouted, trying to calm her. they exchanged shout for shout for ten seconds, let s go to your poor father! and, you re all right! that woke up briggs. by this time, i was conscious of what was going on in a vague way but did not yet realize i was under my bed instead of on it. briggs, awakening in the midst of loud shouts of fear and apprehension came to the quick conclusion that he was suffocating and that we were all trying to bring him out. with a low moan he grasped the grass of campfir, instead of sniffing it, poured it over