“She didn’t get me,” groaned Jimmy. “Thought I wanted another glass, just like a Frog.” Then to the woman, “Madame, compree low, der low, drink, you savvy?” he floundered deeper.
The woman shook her head while McGee scanned the room in search of a pump or something by which he might readily explain his desire. There was nothing in sight to help him. He turned again to the waiting woman.
“Madame, moi comrade—no van rouge—no pas bon for comrade. Kisskesay, der low, water, in Fransay?” Jimmy was at the limit of his resources.
“Never mind, old man, I’ll go without it,” said O. D., coming to the rescue.
“Der low, der low,” muttered the woman shaking her head uncomprehendingly and pronouncing the word just as Jimmy had done. Suddenly a light flashed across her stolid features.
“De l’eau, vous dites.” (Water you said.)
“Oui, Oui, madame.”
“Ah, mon Dieu, de l’eau, je comprends,” and she dashed out of doors with a small bucket.
“At last she gets it—some battlin’, though. These doggone French people can’t compree this water stuff. Maybe if they’d drink more water the war’d be won faster. But I’m getting just like ’em—haven’t had any water in four days myself now. Guess I’ll tank up to-night.”
Madame returned with the water and immediately poured it all in a basin, grabbed some soap and a towel and brought the whole outfit over to Jimmy.