“Dying? What for?” Jack, half awake, crawled shivering out of bed and groped for the lantern. “Who poisoned what?”
“The clams. Bill Glass poisoned them,” groaned Hal. “I told you he had. O—oh! Can’t you do anything, Jack?”
“Yes, I can light the lantern if I ever find it,” muttered Jack. “Hi, Bee!”
“What?” asked Bee sleepily.
“Wake up. Hal’s got a tummy-ache.”
“So have I,” grumbled Bee. “Let me alone.”
When the lantern was finally lighted Hal was discovered as nearly tied in a knot as he could be, groaning pathetically. “It’s the clams, Jack. They were poisoned. I—I think I’m going to die!”
“I think you’re going to drink a pint of hot water if I can get a fire started,” muttered Jack, struggling into his trousers. “Get up, Bee, and lend a hand.”
“All right,” yawned Bee. “What’ll I do? Want your tummy rubbed, Hal?”
“No! Don’t touch it! Haven’t you got any medicine, Jack?”