“Dannie,” he entreated, with a thick forefinger still urging the jug on its course, “you is thirsty, I knows you is!”
I would not touch the jug.
“You been havin’ any trouble, shipmate?” he gently asked.
“Yes, sir,” I groaned. “Trouble, God knows!”
“Along o’ Judy?”
’Twas along o’ Judy.
“A drop o’ water,” says he, setting the glass almost within my hand, “will do you good.”
’Twas so anxiously spoken that my courage failed me. I splashed water into the glass and swallowed it.
“That’s good,” says he; “that’s very good.”
I pushed the glass away with contempt for its virtue of comfort; and I laughed, I think, in a disagreeable way, so that the old man, unused to manifestations as harsh and irreligious as this, started in dismay.