"The little one's in line with the winder stem thing," he said, "and the big one—Chris, it's about twenty minutes of twelve. The water can't come any higher. We must have had the worst of it."
It was queer that I cried then, because I had n't felt at all like crying when we thought that the cave would be flooded.
Greg had been quiet for so long that it frightened me suddenly, and I groped after him to be sure that he was all right. I found his hand, and I couldn't believe that it was really hot when ours were so cold. His forehead was hot, too, and dry, in spite of his hair being damp still from the rain. He curled his hand into mine and said very clearly:
"Will you please bring me a drink of water?"
It was perfectly awful, because he said it so politely and very carefully, as if he were trying not to bother somebody. And
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