Greg's forehead was just as hot as ever, and he thrashed about
and hurt his shoulder and cried miserably.
I don't know how Jerry could have thought of so many things; for it
was he who thought of very carefully breaking the bottom off the
root-beer bottle and using it for a cup. Of course the bottom might
have cracked all to pieces, but it was quite heavy and Jerry was
very careful. It came off wonderfully well, though rather jaggy.
Jerry tried to grind the cutty edges off by rubbing them against the
rock, but it didn't work. Then we remembered being very thirsty once
on a long picnic-walk ages ago, and Father wrapping his handkerchief
around the top of the tin can the soup had come in and giving us a
drink at a pump. So we knew that we could do that with the broken
bottle. Jerry dodged out into the rain through the tide-pools and
came back after a while with some water.
"I couldn't get much," he said, "because the place I found was very
shallow, but I can go again."
I remembered reading in books that you mustn't give much water to
fever-stricken people in any case. We lifted Greg's head up,--that
is, Jerry did, while I held the root-beer bottle glass, and said:
"Here's the drink, Gregs, dear."
It was very hard to tell what I was doing, and some of the water
trickled over the handkerchief and down the front of Greg's jumper.
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