“Hullo, Maine, my lad, you here! You are just in time. I’ve been fetching a can of this clear, sparkling water for my poor fellows. Look sharp, for I can see several eyes looking at it hungrily—I mean thirstily,” he added quickly.
He filled the glass after the fashion of Dickens’s butler, trying to froth it up with a heading of sparkling beads.
“May I drink this, Doctor?” said Archie.
“Drink it? Of course! You are one of my patients still.”
“Thanks. But ladies first.—Here, Mrs Smithers; you look tired and hot. I will have the next glass.”
“No, sir, please,” said the woman firmly. “You want it worse than I do.”
“Don’t waste time,” said the Doctor sternly. “Drink the water, my lad.”
The deliciously cool draught trickled down Archie’s throat till the bottom of the glass became top.
“De-licious,” he said.
The Doctor took the glass, filled it, emptied it, smacked his lips, and then refilled and handed it to Mrs Smithers.