"Ah, this is nice!" he said. "Can I have a drink, Doctor?"
"To be sure. What'll you have? Your uncle's burgundy is good. I can recommend it."
"Really, a drink of water would do me best just now."
"Very well. Here, Saladin, cold water."
The major-domo, a tall muscular Musoga, appeared with a carafe of sparkling water.
"Lucky you're this side of the counthry," the doctor went on. "For ten years, d'ye know, I never wance touched water. 'Twas in Ould Calabar, where most of the dry land is swamp, and the rest mud, and the rule is, drink and die. But what are ye doing out here, my bhoy?"
Tom told his story, the doctor breaking in every now and then with sympathetic little ejaculations.
"'Tis hard luck; to be sure it is," he said, when Tom had told him of his uncle's blunt refusal to allow him to accompany the expedition. "But the major's right, you know, and I couldn't venture any attempt to persuade'm. We call'm Ould Blazes, you see."
"I couldn't ask you to, Doctor. I've come on a fool's errand, and have only myself to blame. I must just make the best of it. What is to be is to be."
"That's right, now. And sure here's the major himself."