The cook turned pale and choked and gasped. "Water!" he cried thickly, for his mouth was too full for easy speech.
"Nay, much drinking hath wrought havoc with thy wits. Eat on, eat on!"
Prodigious were the gulps by which the cook succeeded at last in swallowing his huge mouthful, and great was his distress, for the salt in it nearly choked him. "Water, water!" he weakly cried. "Nay, temper thine heart with mercy, master! I beg for water—I beseech for water."
"Eat on," said the Old One grimly.
Then Harry Malcolm chuckled and the men in the door roared with laughter, but the cook plunked down on his fat knees and thrust out both his hands. "Nay, master, I cannot hold it down!"
"Eat on, O jewel among cooks!"
"Nay, master—"
"Come, then, lads, and cram it down his hungry throat."
Three of them seized him, and one, when he shut tight his mouth, thrust a knife between his teeth.
"Blub-bub-blah!" he yelled. "I'll eat! I'll eat!"