keep yourself out of the way, Toby. That's all about it." And Toby retreated to his caravan to lick his wounds.
He added Jeff to his list of hates after that. It was bitter to him that he should have been ordered about by a man who had been only a tent-hand a few weeks before. The hate grew rapidly as he reflected that but for Jeff, Hugh would never have crossed his path. He fretted over it in long nights when he lay awake, cursing his aching knee and planning wild schemes of revenge.
He had always been a poor sleeper, and now bad nights became more and more frequent, for his mind would not let him rest. To read was impossible, since Harry and Joe grumbled if there were a light. Toby could only toss and turn, thinking furiously.
His thought was never clear: he had worried until his muddled brain worked in a circle. When he could bear it no longer he would feel in the dark for the sleeping-pills he always kept, and gulp one down. He knew they were not good for him: that next day his head would be heavier than ever. Anything, however, was better than lying awake.
"I'd like to give that bright lad the box-full!" he muttered one night as he snapped down the lid.
Wise men teil us that our minds are machines which do not go to sleep, but continue to work over the thoughts which we give them in our last waking moments. Toby awoke next morning with his random thought of dosing Hugh turned already to a full-fledged idea. He brooded over it during the day lovingly. So far as he could see