“Intellectual satisfaction will not mean much to you when you’re saying ‘Hello, St. Peter,’” said Teck, with meaning.
“I say,” said Val, “I’m awfully thirsty—can I have a drink of water?”’ As a matter of fact his tongue and mouth were parched with thirst. He had been a trifle feverish after the blow on the head which he had received, and his throat felt dry as dust. He felt the need of water more than he had ever felt it before.
“Ah, water, to be sure. I’m thirsty myself,” nodded Teck mildly. “O’Hara, bring in a glass of water, will you.”
O’Hara grunted, and in a moment Val heard the sound of running water in the kitchen. In a few moments the horsefaced one brought in an overflowing glass.
“Thanks,” said Teck. He took the glass between his two maimed wrists and held it before him reflectively. “Surprising how badly one wants water when he wants it,” he commented, “isn’t it? Now, take you, for instance, Mr. Morley. You’d probably appreciate this humble glass of water, if I should give it to you, wouldn’t you? You’d⸺”
“Don’t you intend to give it to me?” asked Val.
The other shook his head, mildly surprised. “Give it to you? Why, I’m thirsty myself.” He drained the glass at a gulp and set it on the table. “Ah, that was good,” he wiped his lips. “There’s nothing so good as water when you’re thirsty. Think it over, Mr. Morley—you may be thirstier before you get it.” He rose.
“You dirty hound,” said Val, exasperated. “Do you mean to torture me⸺”
The other looked at him, pained. “Torture you?
