“Where is Jack Barnes, Thomas?” asked Peter, quietly.
“He’s in there if you want to see him,” said Thomas, jerking his head towards the parlour.
We went in, and when Peter saw Jack lying there I noticed that swift, haunted look came into his eyes, as if he’d seen a ghost of the past. He sat down by the sofa to wait until Jack woke. I thought as he sat there that his eyes were like a woman’s for sympathy and like a dog’s for faithfulness. I was very shaky.
Presently Thomas looked in. “Is there anything I can do for you, M’Laughlan?” he asked in as civil a tone as he could get to.
“Yes,” said Peter, “bring me a flask of your best whisky—your own, mind—and a glass.
“We shall need the whisky for him on the track, Joe,” said Peter, when the flask came. “Get another glass and a bottle of soda; you want a nip.” He poured out a drink for himself.
“The first thing we’ve got to do is to get him away; then I’ll soon put him on his feet. But we’ll let him sleep a while longer. I find I’ve got business near Solong, and I’m going down with you.”
By and by Jack woke up and glared round, and when he caught sight of Peter he just reached for his hands and said, “Peter! Thank God you’ve come!” Then he said, “But I must have a drink first, Peter.”
“All right, Jack, you shall have a drink,” said Peter; and he gave him a stiff nobblerq. It steadied Jack a bit.
“Now listen to me, Jack,” said Peter. “How much money have you got left?”