Lord only knows, how dry I am!”
One by one the others roused up and joined in the singing, sitting there in the gloom, some swaying slightly, some holding themselves rigidly straight on account of the queer feelings in their heads.
It was a strange sight, and the hoarse, tuneless chanting sounded like a funeral dirge.
“Shut up!” grunted one fellow, who had refused to sit up. He put his hands over his ears and tried to go on sleeping.
The singing—if singing it could be called—continued in the same dirgelike strain.
“We’ll see if we can’t accommodate you,” murmured Ready, who had found in a corner of the shed a hose used for washing wagons. Investigation showed that the water could be turned on in that corner. Jack shut the nozzle and turned the water on. Then he was ready.
“How dry I am! How dry I am!
Lord only knows, how dry I am!”
“Perhaps this will wet you down a little,” observed Ready, as he calmly turned on the hose and let drive at the crowd.
Swish! spat! spatter!