"Me too," said Jimmie. He glanced at Pete, who lay still. "My regards
to the Perfessor, and tell him that he'll find us at old man
Greiffenhagen's. I'll hev one more taste of happiness before I die."
Dan hauled out his battered trunk and opened it. Pete sat up.
"Talkin' o' tasting, so will I," said he. "Give me that ther demijohn.
I'll die like the Dook o' Clarence."
Jimmie picked up the demijohn and looked at it with lingering eyes.
"Sorry I promised Maw to let whisky alone."
"If it comes to that," said Pete, "what's the matter with callin' it
medicine?"
"Gee! So it is." He took out the cork and tipped up the demijohn,
balancing it skilfully upon his right forearm.
"Pass it over," said Pete.
"After you," added Dan.
"Go easy," said Pete shortly. "You two fellers mean to expire in the
arms o' ministerin' angels. Leave the demijohn with me."
"What! You'd hog all the medicine? Why, Pete Holloway, I thought you
was white!"
"Put that demijohn down."
Dan glanced at Jimmie, who was drawing on his best pants.
"Say, Jimmie, we'll hev to take the medicine along. There's a plenty
for Pete in the cellar.
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