“Glass it is, sir,” growled the man, and the doctor inserted one end of the glass syphon in the water and the other between his patient’s lips, so that he could drink without being raised.
Carey half, closed his eyes, and his countenance bespoke his intense enjoyment, as the cool, pleasant water trickled slowly down his dry throat till the glass was emptied, and the old sailor raised the tin he held.
“’Nother go, sir?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Carey.
“No,” said the doctor; “not yet.”
“Ha!” sighed Carey; “but that was good. I say, doctor, I am broken somewhere, am I not?”
“Yes.”
“’Tisn’t my neck, is it?”
“Hor! hor! hor!” chuckled the old sailor.
“Well, it feels like it,” said Carey, pettishly.