"To the pond—drink."
McCarty, on his hands and knees, began to crawl. Stover raised himself up and staggered after. The rain came down unheeded—nothing could add to his misery. They reached the pond and drank long copious drinks, plunging their dripping heads in the water.
Gradually the vertigo passed. Faint and weak they sat propped up opposite each other, solemnly, sadly, glance to glance, while unnoticed the rain spouted from the ends of their noses.
"Oh, Dink!" said Tough at last.
"Don't!"
"I thought I was going to die."
"I'm not sure of it yet."
"I had a lot I wanted to say to you," said Tough painfully, feeling the opportunity was slipping away.
"You said I was smoking too much," said Dink maliciously.
"Ugh! Don't—no, that wasn't it."