As she looked into that upturned face, Judy's grin vanished. “I sure 'lowed as how you-all was dead,” she explained.
“Well,” returned the man in the boat, wearily, “I can assure you that it's not in the least my fault if I disappoint you. I feel as bad about it as you do. However, I don't think I am so much alive that it makes any material difference.” He lifted the whisky bottle, and studied it thoughtfully.
“You-all come dad burned near not bein' ary bit alive,” returned the girl.
“Yes?” said the man, inquiringly.
“Yep; you sure did come mighty nigh hit. If your old John-boat had a-carried you-all on down ter Elbow Rock, 'stead of bein' ketched in the eddy here, you-all would sure 'nough been a-talkin' to the Devil by now.”
The man, looking out over the river into the fog, muttered to himself, “I can't even make a success of dying, it seems.”
Again, he regarded the empty bottle in his hand with studied interest. Then, tossing the bottle into the river, he looked up, once more, to the girl on the bank above.
“Listen, sister!” he said, nervously. “Is there any place around here where I can buy a drink? I need something rather badly. Where am I, anyway?”
“You-all are at Auntie Sue's place,” said Judy; “an' there sure ain't no chance for you-all ter git ary licker here. Where'd you-all come from, anyhow? How'd you-all git here 'thout no oars ner paddle ner nothin'? Where was you-all aimin' ter go?”
“Your questions, my good girl, are immaterial and irrelevant,” returned the man in the boat. “The all-important matter before us for consideration is,—how can I get a drink? I MUST have a drink, I tell you!” He held up his hands, and they were shaking as if with palsy. “And I must have it damned quick!”