"How you making out?" Tom inquired, gruffly. His voice was cold, his manner was both repellent and hostile.
"Who, me?" Jerry peered up from under his glistening sou'wester. "Oh,
I'm doin' fine!"
Linton remained silent, ill at ease; water drained off his coat; his lantern flared smokily in the wind. After a time he cleared his throat and inquired:
"Wet?"
"Naw!"
There was a long pause, then the visitor inquired: "Are you lying?"
"Unh-hunh!"
Again silence claimed both men until Tom broke out, irritably: "Well, you aim to set here all night?"
"Sure! I ain't sleepy. I don't mind a little mist and I'm plenty warm." This cheerful assertion was belied by the miserable quaver in which it was voiced.
"Why don't you-er-run over to my tent?" Linton gasped and swallowed hard. The invitation was out, the damage was done. "There's lots of room."