“Think!” she urged. “Say it out loud, Mullendore—the name of the town you’d put on the postal if you were going to write to the 'Old Man.'”
His lips moved to speak, and then somewhat as if the habit of secrecy asserted itself even in his delirium, he checked himself with an expression of obstinacy on his face.
Kate’s hand crept to his shoulder and clutched it tight.
“Tell me, Pete!” She shook him hard. “Say it—quick!”
He muttered thickly:
“What for?”
“You’re a liar, Pete Mullendore!” she taunted. “You don’t know. You haven’t any idea where Katie Prentice’s father lives!”
The gibe brought no response; yet slowly, so gradually that it was not possible to tell when it began, a look that was wholly rational came into his eyes. He blinked, touched his dry lips with his dry tongue and, turning his head, recognized her without surprise.
“Git me a drink.”
She held a dipper to his lips.