They stood regarding each other, and Perroquet's brows gathered in a slow effort of thought.
"Consider," urged Dubosc with his quaint touch of pedantry. "Why should you and I fight? We are rational men. We can see this trouble through and win yet. Such weather cannot last forever. Besides, here are only two of us to divide the water now."
"That is true," nodded The Parrot. "That is true, isn't it? Fenayrou kindly leaves us his share. An inheritance—what? A famous idea. I'll take mine now."
Dubosc probed him keenly.
"My share, at once, if you please," insisted Perroquet, with heavy docility. "Afterward, we shall see. Afterward."
The doctor smiled his grim and wan little smile.
"So be it."
Without relinquishing the flask he brought out his canvas wallet once more—that wallet which replaced the professional black bag—and rolled out the thimble by some swift sleight of his flexible fingers while he held Perroquet's glance with his own.
"I will measure it for you."
He poured the thimbleful and handed it over quickly, and when Perroquet had tossed it off he filled again and again.