"Here we are, sister!" he grunted, with evident relief. Swinging her from his shoulder, he placed Dorothy on her feet and pulled off the sack.
"Gosh!" he exclaimed, steadying her as she would have fallen, "I thought it was a Mack truck I was carryin'. But you're only a kid! Nobody'd think you weighed so much. Did I make you cry?"
He placed an arm under her elbow and led her to a chair. It was of the hard, straight-backed, kitchen variety, but Dorothy was only too glad to sit down and rest. She kept her eyes closed, for the light, after the dark confines of the bag, was blinding. Her breath came in convulsive gasps.
"Feelin' kind of woozy?" The man's tone was callous, but at least it evinced a slight interest in her condition and she took advantage of that at once.
"Yes, I am," she admitted, keeping her eyes closed, but drawing deep breaths of air into her lungs between words. "You nearly smothered me in that filthy bag. If you want to make up for it, you can bring me a drink of water now."
"You certainly have some noive! Y' don't happen ter want a couple of ice cubes and a stick in it too?"
"Plain water, if you please."
"Dat's all you'll get, kid. But I'm dry myself, so I'll bring you some."
She heard him cross the room, jerk open a door and tramp over an uncarpeted floor beyond.
Dorothy opened her eyes.