All at once Archie sat up.
“Where are you?” he asked in a high, strained voice.
“A’m here,” replied the beggar.
“Is it you, Logie?” exclaimed Flemington.
“It’s mysel’.”
Wattie smoothed the roughness out of his accent as best he could. The other seemed to be hovering on the brink of consciousness. He sank back.
“It is not Logie,” he said; “but you can tell him——”
Wattie leaned forward and laid his broad palm firmly and very gently on his shoulder.
“What’ll a’ tell him?” said he.
Flemington turned towards him and groped about with his hot hand.