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!"

Over his shoulder Dick could see a long trunk nosing its way gingerly
through the broken pane and searching out the source of the alluring
smell. He pushed Tripe along in front of him, and together they backed
the dog-cart into the stable-place, making a very clumsy business of
it for three reasons: Tom Tripe was none too sober: the horse was
nearly crazy with fear of the uncanny brutes just beyond the wall; and
Dick was in too much hurry for reasons of his own. However, they got
horse and cart in backward, and the door shut before the crash came.