“Lovely,” cried Glyn. “Why, Wrench, you beat the blackbirds.”
“Oh, nonsense, sir! I have often tried; but I can’t get their nice soft, sweet notes.”
“No; but your whistle is of a different kind.—It’s beautiful; isn’t it, Singh?”
“Yes; it’s just like those minas that we have got at home.—Give me a glass of water.”
“Haven’t got a glass, sir, only a mug. Here, I’ll run and fetch you one.”
“No, no,” cried Singh, and taking up the mug he held it to be filled and then drank heartily, Glyn following his example.
“Beautiful clear water, young gentlemen, isn’t it?” said the man. “The Doctor says it will make you strong, and there’s iron enough in it to do any man good. I should like to have a well like that in my place when I start for myself. I should put out bills about it and call it mineral water, same as the Doctor says this is.”
“How deep is the well really?”
“Just a hundred foot, sir.”
“How do you know? You haven’t measured it.”