“It is water,” said William, softly, “and it can be had in plenty.”
“I have often sailed on the bayou,” said Fergus, “and have washed my hands at the hydrant at home, but I have never before seen any water.”
Fergus drank glass after glass from the cooler, and finally suffered William to lead him, reluctant, from the hall.
They parted at the door, and as Fergus went down the street like one in some happy dream, saying softly to himself at intervals: “Water!” “Water!” William Meeks looked after him with a smile of devilish satisfaction upon his dark face.
That evening after he closed the store Fergus started home and suddenly felt an imperious thirst come upon him. He was already a slave to this wonderful new liquid that refreshed him so.
He entered a little corner saloon, where he had been in the habit of stopping to get a drink. The bartender seized a mug and reached for the bottle under the counter.
“Hold on,” said Fergus; “don’t be so fast. Give me a glass of water, please.”
“You owe me ein dollar und five cents,” he said. “Blease, Mr. Hollihan, bay me now pefore you go py yourself too much grazy to him remember, und I pe mooch obliged.”
Fergus then threw the money upon the counter and staggered out of the saloon.