"I'd give
all I'm worth to catch on to Peter right now, and cling for much _more_
than life; but what I started, I must finish, and Peter isn't here."
"Well what's the matter with me?" asked Mickey. "Have you run into the
yellow jackets too? 'Cause if you have, I'm ahead of you, so I know what
to do. Just catch on to me!"
"Think you are big enough to serve as a straw for a drowning man, Mickey?"
inquired Douglas.
"Sure! I'm big enough to establish a _Pertectorate_ over you, this minute.
The weight of my body hasn't anything to do with the size of my heart, or
how fast I can work my brains and feet, if I must."
"Mickey," said Douglas despairingly, "it's my candid opinion that no one
can save me, right now."
Mickey opened his lips, and showed that his brain _was_ working by
shutting them abruptly on something that seemed very much as if it had
started to be: "Sure!"
"Is that so?" he substituted.
"Yes, I'm in the sweat box," admitted Douglas.
"And it's uncomfortable and weakening. What's the first thing we must do
to get you out?"
"What I'm facing now is the prospect that there's no way for me to get
out, or for my friends to get me out," admitted Douglas.
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