Aggressively, violently, but without words this time, the partners argued the matter. They were glaring at each other, they had almost come to blows when, with a start, Jerry looked at his watch. Swiftly he possessed himself of the medicine-glass and spoon; to Tom he whispered:
"Quick! Lift her up."
Linton refused. "Don't you know ANYTHING?" he queried. "Never move a sick person unless you have to. Give it to her as she lays."
"How you goin' to feed medicine out of a spoon to anybody layin' down?" the other demanded.
"Easy!" Tom took the glass and the teaspoon; together the two men bent over the bed.
But Linton's hands were shaky; when he pressed the spoon to Rouletta's lips he spilled its contents. The girl rolled her head restlessly.
"Pshaw! She moved."
"She never moved," Jerry contradicted. "You missed her." From his nostrils issued that annoying, that insulting, snort of derision which so sorely tried his partner's patience. "You had a fair shot at her, layin' down, Tom, and you never touched her."
"Maybe I'd have had better luck if you hadn't jiggled me."
"Hell! Who jiggled—?"