"Very badly," said Hopeful, in an almost inaudible voice, and fell a-coughing again.
Jig-Leg cursed loudly and cynically.
"Suppose I call someone?"
"Whom?" said Hopeful, his voice was like a dismal echo.
"Or perhaps you may now be able to get up and go on for a little while?"
"No, no!"
Jig-Leg sat by the head of his comrade, and embracing his own knees with his arms gazed steadily at Hopeful's face. The breast of Hopeful was moving convulsively with a hollow rattling sound, his eyes were deep-sunken, his lips gaped strangely apart and seemed to cleave to his teeth. From the left corner of his mouth a dark living jet was trickling.
"Is it still flowing?" asked Jig-Leg quietly, and in the tone of his question there was something very near to respect.
The face of Hopeful shuddered.
"It is flowing," came a faint rattle.