“I won’t!”
The coast was hard to distinguish from the black sky in the west. It began to snow. Snow and night, allied, would bring Jehoshaphat Rudd and old John Wull to cold death.
“Mister Wull,” Jehoshaphat objected, “’tis long past supper-time, an’ I wants t’ go home.”
“Go—an’ be damned!”
“I’ll count ten,” Jehoshaphat threatened.
“You dassn’t!”
“I don’t know whether I’ll go or not,” said Jehoshaphat. “Maybe not. Anyhow, I’ll count ten, an’ see what happens. Is you ready?”
Wull sat down on the tarpaulin.
“One,” Jehoshaphat began.
John Wull seemed not to hear.