“Yes,” I said; “I’m so thirsty, I must have a drop.”
He dipped the baler in carefully, and brought it out dripping.
“Has anybody else drunk any?” I said.
“Oh yes, sir, all on us; and I says to you as I says to them, you shut your eyes, sir, and think you’ve been eating bloaters, or codfish, or fried sole. Then tip it down quick, and you’ll says it’s lovely.”
“Ugh!” I ejaculated, as I looked down into the baler, “why, it looks like a dose of rhubarb.”
“Well, it do, sir, a little; but you’re a spyling of it a deal by looking at it first. You shut your eyes, sir, as I said; me and my mates thought as it’s good strong water with a deal o’ what some people calls nootriment in it.”
“None for me, thank you,” I said, handing back the tin.
“Bring me some water, Mr Herrick, when you’ve done,” said Mr Brooke from where he sat holding the tiller.
“Yes, sir,” I said; and, holding the baler to my lips, I took a hearty, hasty draught, for it was cool and refreshing to my dry mouth and throat, and, that done, I refilled the baler and took it aft.
“Humph! rather muddy, Herrick,” said Mr Brooke, smiling; “but one can’t carry a filter about at a time like this.”