“Taste!” said Douglas bitterly. “I wun’t mind a taste ... it’s pain I mind—orful pain—gnawin’ at your inside.”
“I wish you’d shut up,” said William yet more irritably, “an’ help me with this fire. All the wood seems to be damp or somethin’. I can’t get anythin’ to happen.”
“Blow it,” suggested Ginger, taking his mind temporarily from his taste.
Douglas, tearing himself metaphorically speaking from his pain, knelt down and blew it.
It went out.
William raised his blackened face.
“That’s a nice thing to do,” he said bitterly. “Blowin’ it out. All the trouble I’ve had lightin’ it an’ then you jus’ go an’ blow it out. An’ there isn’t another match.”
“ALL THE TROUBLE I’VE HAD LIGHTIN’ IT AN’ THEN YOU
JUS’ GO AN’ BLOW IT OUT.”
“Well, it’d’ve gone out if we hadn’t blown it out,” said Ginger optimistically, “so it doesn’t matter. Anyway, let’s do somethin’ int’restin’. We’ve not had much fun so far—eatin’ roots an’ things an’ messin’ about with fire. We don’t want a fire yet. It’s warm enough without a fire. Let’s leave it till to-night when we need a fire, to sleep by and to keep the wild animals off. We’ll light one with,” vaguely, “flint an’ steel if we c’n find a bit of flint an’ steel lyin’ about anywhere. But we won’t light another now. We’re all sick of it and if we go burnin’ up all the firewood in the wood an——”