Mr. Wriford turned to the recumbent form beside him to nudge it into wakefulness, but found it already awake. The gleam of Mr. Puddlebox's open eyes was to be seen in the darkness, and Mr. Puddlebox said: "Loony, how many of you are here this morning?"
"There's only me," said Mr. Wriford. "I'm not going to care—"
"You're spooked again, loony," Mr. Puddlebox interrupted him. "I've been listening to you talking."
"Well, you can listen to this," said Mr. Wriford. "I'm not going to care a damn what happens to me or care a hang for anybody—you or anybody."
"Very well," said Mr. Puddlebox. "That's settled."
"So it is," said Mr. Wriford, "and I tell you what I'm going to do first."
Sufficient of morning was by now stealing through cracks and crevices of the barn to radiate its gloom. Two great doors admitted to the interior. Between them ran a gangway of bricked floor with hay stacked upwards to the roof on either hand. Mr. Wriford could almost touch the roof where now he stood up, his feet sinking in the hay, and could see the top of the ladder by which overnight they had climbed to their bed. "What I'm going to do first," said Mr. Wriford, pointing to the gangway beneath them, "is to jump down there and see what happens."
"Well, I'll tell you what you are going to do last," returned Mr. Puddlebox, "and that also is jump down there, because you'll break your neck and that'll be the end of you, boy."
"I'm going to see," said Mr. Wriford. "Smash! That's just what I want to see."
"Half a minute," said Mr. Puddlebox and caught Mr. Wriford's coat. "Just a moment, my loony, for there's some one else wants to see also. There's some one coming in."