"Zounds! How I suffer!" murmured the sergeant. "And what a thirst! My throat is on fire!"
Father Bribri overheard the words, and seeing Gildas approach holding in one hand a bottle of wine and water, and in the other a basket with glasses, called out to him as if he were at an inn:
"Waiter! This way, waiter! The old man here wants something to drink, if you please! He is thirsty!"
Surprised and touched by the civility of his companion on the mattress, the sergeant said to him:
"Thank you, my good old man; I may not decline, because I feel as if I would choke."
Upon the summons of father Bribri, Gildas filled one of the glasses in his basket. He stooped down and handed it to the soldier. The latter essayed to rise, but failed, and said as he dropped back:
"Zounds! I can not sit up. My loins are shattered."
"Wait a second, sergeant," said father Bribri; "one of my legs is disabled, but my loins and arms are still sea-worthy. I shall give you a helping hand."
The ragpicker helped the soldier to sit up, and supported him until he had emptied his glass. After that he gently helped him to lie down again.
"Thanks, and pardon the trouble, my good old man," said the Municipalist.