"I say," said he, in a faint voice, "I wish you would be good enough to bring me a glass of water."
"Certainly I will," replied Tom, rising and placing his valise in the chair.
He did not know where to go to get it, but as he turned into a little gangway which he thought ought to lead to the galley he encountered a darky, and to him he made known his wants—not for a glass, but for a whole pitcher of ice-water. With these in his hand he went back to the sick man, who, waving away the glass of water which Tom poured out for him, seized the pitcher and drained it nearly dry. Then he set it down, and with a sigh of relief settled back in his chair.
"I have been waiting for an hour for someone to hand me a drink of water, but I didn't have strength enough to go after it," said he, with a smile. "I knew where it was—well, it stayed there."
"Fever and ague?" said Tom.
"Buck ague," responded the man. "I always get it whenever I come to this country."
"I should think you would keep away from it, then."
"Well, I had to come with a herd of cattle my employer was getting up for the government, and that's the way I got it. Ah! here comes one of those lazy kids that ought to have been here and tended to me," added the man, as one of those handsome cowboys that Tom had noticed on the main-deck rapidly approached the table. When he saw the pitcher of ice-water, he stopped and gazed in consternation.
"Somebody's been fixing you!" said he. "He's been taking calomel," he explained to Tom.
"He never said a word to me about it," faltered Tom, who thought he was in a fair prospect of getting himself into trouble.