Near the upper shelf a row of nails held Swan's coffee cups,--four of them, thick and white, such as cheap restaurants use.
Swan hooked a finger over the nail that held a cracked cup and glanced over his shoulder at Jack, sitting in the doorway with his keen nose to the world.
"You watch out now, Yack.

I shall talk to my mother with my thoughts," he said, drawing a hand across his forehead and speaking in breathless gasps.

"You watch." For answer Jack thumped his tail on the dirt floor and sniffed the breeze, taking in his overlapping tongue while he did so.

He licked his lips, looked over his shoulder at Swan, and draped his pink tongue down over his lower jaw again.
"All right, now I talk," said Swan and pulled upon the nail in his fingers.
The cupboard swung toward him bodily, end slabs and all.

He picked up the lantern, stepped over the log sill and pulled the cupboard door into place again.
Inside the dugout Swan set the lantern on a table, dropped wearily upon a rough bench before it and looked at the jars beside him, lifted his hand and opened a compact, but thoroughly efficient field wireless "set." His right fingers dropped to the key, and the whining drone of the wireless rose higher and higher as he tuned up.