Tom tried to close the book of memory and to consider nothing whatever except the rankling present, but, now that his thoughts had begun to run backward, he could not head them off. He wished Jerry wouldn't cough; it was a distressing sound, and it disturbed his rest. Nevertheless, that hollow, hacking complaint continued and finally the listener arose, lit a lantern, put on a slicker and untied his tent flaps. Jerry's stove was sizzling in the partial shelter of the canvas sheet; over it the owner crouched in an attitude of cheerless dejection. "How you making out?" Tom inquired, gruffly. His voice was cold, his manner was both repellent and hostile. "Who, me?" Jerry peered up from under his glistening sou'wester. "Oh, I'm doin' fine!" Linton remained silent, ill at ease; water drained off his coat; his lantern flared smokily in the wind. After a time he cleared his throat and inquired: "Wet?" "Naw!" There was a long pause, then the visitor inquired: "Are you lying?" "Unh-hunh!" Again silence claimed both men until Tom broke out, irritably: "Well, you aim to set here all night?" "Sure! I ain't sleepy. I don't mind a little mist and I'm plenty warm." This cheerful assertion was belied by the miserable quaver in which it was voiced. "Why don't you-er-run over to my tent?" Linton gasped and swallowed hard. The invitation was out, the damage was done. "There's lots of room." Mr. Quirk spared his caller's further feelings by betraying no triumph whatever. Rather plaintively he declared: "I got ROOM enough here. It ain't exactly room I need." Again he coughed. "Here! Get a move on you, quick," Linton ordered, forcefully. "The idea of you setting around hatching out a lungful of pneumonia bugs! Git! I'll bring your bedding." Mr. Quirk rose with alacrity. "Say! Let's take my stove over to your tent and warm her up. I bet you're cold?" "N-no! I'm comfortable enough." The speaker's teeth played an accompaniment to this mendacious denial. "Of course I'm not sweating any, but--I s'pose the stove would cheer things up, eh? Rotten night, ain't it?" "Worst I ever saw. Rotten country, for that matter." "You said something," Mr. Linton chattered. He nodded his head with vigor. It was wet work moving Jerry's belongings, but the transfer was finally effected, the stove was set up and a new fire started. This done, Tom brought forth a bottle of whisky. "Here," said he, "take a snifter. It'll do you good." Jerry eyed the bottle with frank astonishment before he exclaimed: "Why, I didn't know you was a drinkin' man. You been hidin' a secret vice from me?" "No. And I'm not a drinking man. I brought it along for--you. I--er--that cough of yours used to worry me, so--" "Pshaw! I cough easy. You know that." "You take a jolt and"--Linton flushed with embarrassment--"and I'll have one with you. I was lying just now; I'm colder 'n a frog's belly." "Happy days," said Quirk, as he tipped the bottle.