“He says he’s dry as a bone!” she sat up. “He says he’s got to have a drink right away!”
“Well, I guess he’ll just have to wait,” I said.
But Hattie May’s eyes had lighted on something—a bottle on the ground where Eve had left it. It was the dandelion wine for Mrs. Viner. She pounced on it. “I’m going to drop this down!” she exclaimed.
“You’re crazy, Hattie May!” I protested. “The bottle will be sure to break or hit him on the head. Besides,” I added weakly, “very likely he doesn’t like dandelion wine—many don’t.”
“How can you talk like that, Sandy, at such a moment! I guess if your brother was perishing of thirst and you had some drink to give him—I guess you wouldn’t hesitate!”
“Well,” I said resignedly, “if you crack his skull, I don’t think it will help matters any.” But she wasn’t listening. She was leaning again over the jagged aperture, the bottle in her hand. I took another strangle hold on the back of her skirt and held my peace.
The bottle disappeared into the void. Just as it did so, I heard the sound of voices behind me. Michael Gilpatrick was running toward us and behind him was a man in blue overalls, carrying a bundle of rope. Panting in the rear, came Eve.
“Oh, Michael, I’m glad you’re not—I’m glad you came!” I cried. He gave me barely a nod. I had never seen him look so solemn. “How’d he get down there?” he asked going quickly to the hole and peering down.
“We don’t know—we heard him shouting.”
“Oh, do hurry,” urged Hattie May. “He says he’s perishing.”