“I put some water on heem,” Pierre said as he unscrewed the top of a canteen.
As the warm water trickled onto his forehead the boy thought that it would be the part of wisdom to come to life fearing that if he did not harsher treatment might be resorted to. So he slowly opened his eyes and uttered a low groan. The groan was not entirely faked for his head was still aching as though it would split.
“Where am I?” he asked in a low weak tone.
“You right here,” Pierre answered.
“But how did I get here?”
“Big Tiny, heem carry you. You no heavy for Tiny.”
“Of all the names,” Jack thought, “that takes the cake. Big Tiny. Well I guess by the way he carried me that he’s big enough.”
“You tink you can walk, huh?”
“I know I can’t,” Jack snapped. “My head is about ready to break. What did you give me?”
“Never mind. Tiny, heem carry you.”