"Blood--not mine. Thirst's the matter. Exhausted's the matter. Done up.
Drink, man! Give us water!"
Thirst was in the very tone of his words, alternating a broken croak and
a faint, throaty rustle which just reached Heyst's ears. The man in the
boat raised his hands to be helped up on the jetty, whispering:
"I tried. I am too weak. I tumbled down."
Wang was coming along the jetty slowly, with intent, straining eyes.
"Run back and bring a crowbar here. There's one lying by the coal-heap,"
Heyst shouted to him.
The man standing in the boat sat down on the thwart behind him. A
horrible coughing laugh came through his swollen lips.
"Crowbar? What's that for?" he mumbled, and his head dropped on his
chest mournfully.
Meantime, Heyst, as if he had forgotten the boat, started kicking hard
at a large brass tap projecting above the planks. To accommodate ships
that came for coal and happened to need water as well, a stream had
been tapped in the interior and an iron pipe led along the jetty. It
terminated with a curved end almost exactly where the strangers' boat
had been driven between the piles; but the tap was set fast.
"Hurry up!" Heyst yelled to the Chinaman, who was running with the
crowbar in his hand.
Heyst snatched it from him and, obtaining a leverage against the
string-piece, wrung the stiff tap round with a mighty jerk.
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