All three, then, burst into an immoderate fit of laughter. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. Here and there, a rectangular patch, darker than the rest, showed that some had been removed. Because their human lives were so short, the happily married had no time to get sick of one another. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. "I do," replied Thames, in the same tone; "we haven't a moment to lose. “The fool I have been!” he cried; and now speech was coming to him.
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