[Delighted.] Now he’s going to fill me with the old familiar juice!
[Potter fills him with water and returns to Omar.
Third Pot.
[Disgusted.] Water! Well, I’m dashed!
Omar.
Many thanks, O Sáki. Here’s to you. [Drains beaker.] Ugh! don’t think much of your liquor. I wish the moon wouldn’t look at me like that. She’s a beastly colour. Why doesn’t she look the other way?
Potter.
[Sarcastically.] Wants to see you, I suppose.
Omar.
[Darkly.] Well, some day she won’t. That’s all. Farewell, O Sáki. Yours is a joyous errand. But I wish you had put something stronger in the glass. [Handing it back to him.] Turn it down, there’s a good fellow.