Pretty soon we fetched up with a gasp.
"A damn long way To Mollyhay," whispered Denton, and then off we went into more shrieks.

And when we would sober down a little, one or the other of us would say it again: "A damn long way To Mollyhay," and then we'd laugh some more.

It must have been a sweet sight! At last I realised that we ought to pull ourselves together, so I snubbed up short, and Denton did the same, and we set to laying plans.
But every minute or so one of us would catch on some word, and then we'd trail off into rhymes and laughter and repetition.
"Keep him going as long as you can," said Denton.
"Yes." "And be sure to stick to the beach." That far it was all right and clear-headed.

But the word "beach" let us out.
"I'm a peach Upon the beach," sings I, and there we were both off again until one or the other managed to grope his way back to common sense again.

And sometimes we crow-hopped solemnly around and around the prostrate Schwartz like a pair of Injins.
But somehow we got our plan laid at last, slipped the coins into Schwartz's pocket, and said good-bye.
"Old socks, good-bye, You bet I'll try," yelled Denton, and laughing fit to kill, danced off up the beach, and out into a sort of grey mist that shut off everything beyond a certain distance from me now.
So I kicked Schwartz, he felt in his pocket, threw a gold piece away, and "bought a little more walk." My entire vision was fifty feet or so across.