“You are nearly there,” Sard said. “One more little effort and you will be there. I think your brother’s a hero, Miss Kingsborough, to be doing this, in his state.”
“You are wonderful, Hilary,” she said. “Now forward again.”
The sick man thrust the stool before him almost to the wall.
“Stop there,” Sard said. “Do not push it further under the shelf. Now you are almost there: all that you have to do now is to heave yourself up and reach the jug. Steady yourself against the wall.”
Hilary with an effort hove himself to a kneeling posture on the stool. When there, he found that he had pushed it too far underneath the shelf. He could not see the jug, but saw instead that he would have to lean somewhat backward, clutching to the shelf with one hand while he groped for the jug with the other. The thought of doing this unnerved him, he made no attempt for a minute.
“It is just directly over your head,” Margarita told him.
“Yes, I know where it is,” he answered, “only getting it is the problem. However, it is water.”
“It is lovely water, which will take away all your faintness.”
“Yes, by George, it will! I can tell you I want it. I’m going to get it.”
“Good. Well done.”