At first they were melancholy, and talked of the divers times they had contemplated suicide.

The Carter, not a week before, had stood on the bridge and looked at the water, and pondered the question.

Water, the Carpenter insisted with heat, was a bad route.

He, for one, he knew, would struggle.

A bullet was "'andier," but how under the sun was he to get hold of a revolver?
That was the rub.
They grew more cheerful as the hot "tea" soaked in, and talked more about themselves.