"You know, old tillicum," he added, his brows contracting and a shadow seeming to pass athwart his face and then to return and linger there, "maybe I'll wish that I hadn't dragged you into this wild, unearthly business. And yet I wouldn't care to face it without you beside me."
"Dragged me into it?" I exclaimed. "Now, look here: please, Milton, don't say that again."
"I hope, Bill, that I haven't—"
"Not a bit, not a bit. But I hope you will never talk like that any more."
He raised a hand and placed it on my shoulder.
"Pardon me, old tillicum," he said. "And yet, after all, I may regret it, for this business before us may prove a most terrible one—something even worse than that."
For a few moments there was silence, and then I said:
"Well, let's klatawah."
"Yes," said he, turning and starting; "let's klatawah.
"And," he added, "do you know what that reminds me of?"