"Yes, the door's wide enough."
"Then I'll do it."
"Suit yourself. But take some of that rum before you go outside. The night air's bad for your lungs. Help yourself and pass the bottle, as the Queen said to the Archbishop of Canterbury."
"All right, I will."
Dick poured a little on his handkerchief, thrust the handkerchief through the broken pane and waved it violently to spread the smell. It was cheap, immodest stuff, blatant with its own advertisement. Then he set the jorum down on the end of the table farthest from the wall, to the best of his judgment out of reach from the window.
"Come along, Tom," he said then. "Help me with the horse."
"What's your hurry? Take a drink first."
"No, let's take one together afterward."
He took Tom by the shoulder and pushed him to his feet.
"The horse might break away. Come on, man, hurry!"