“Same thing, sir. Said you’d knocked the Major’s eyeglass off and broke it. Did you do that, sir?”
“My arm jerked out and came in contact with his glass, Gedge.”
“Same thing, sir, on’y we call it hitting out.”
Bracy made a weary gesture with his head, and then, in despairing tones, asked for more water.
“All right, sir; but no larks this time.”
“What?”
“Don’t get chucking it in my face, sir, unless it does you a lot o’ good. If it do I won’t mind, for I should like to see you full o’ fun again.”
“Fun!” groaned Bracy. “Give me the water. It is no fun, but a horror that is upon me, my lad.”
“Sorry to hear that, sir,” said Gedge, filling the brass cup again from a tall metal bottle. “Still, it do seem rather comic. What makes you do it, sir?”
“I can’t help it, my lad,” groaned Bracy, who once more drank thirstily and emptied the cup; Gedge, who had been watching him sharply, ready to dodge the water if it were thrown, managing to get it away this time without receiving a drop.