The single _sceau_ which
supplied the (at this time) sixty-odd inhabitants of The Enormous Room
with drinking water had done its duty, shortly after our arrival from the
first _soupe_ with such thoroughness as to leave a number of unfortunate
(among whom I was one) waterless. The interval between _soupe_ and
promenade loomed darkly and thirstily before us unfortunates. As the
minutes passed, it loomed with greater and greater distinctness. At the
end of twenty minutes our thirst--stimulated by an especially salty dose
of lukewarm water for lunch--attained truly desperate proportions.
Several of the bolder thirsters leaned from the various windows of the
room and cried
"_De l'eau, planton; de l'eau, s'il vous plait_"
upon which the guardian of the law looked up suspiciously; pausing a
moment as if to identify the scoundrels whose temerity had so far got the
better of their understanding as to lead them to address him, a
_planton_, in familiar terms--and then grimly resumed his walk, gun on
shoulder, revolver on hip, the picture of simple and unaffected majesty.
Whereat, seeing that entreaties were of no avail, we put our seditious
and dangerous heads together and formulated a very great scheme; to wit,
the lowering of an empty tin-pail about eight inches high, which tin-pail
had formerly contained confiture, which confiture had long since passed
into the guts of Monsieur Auguste, The Zulu, B.
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