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71. Port Wine.
In ten minutes the masters slept; not so the servants ---hungry, and more thirsty than hungry.
Blaisois and Mousqueton set themselves to preparing their bed which consisted of a plank and a valise. On a hanging table, which swung to and fro with the rolling of the vessel, were a pot of beer and three glasses.
"This cursed rolling!" said Blaisois. "I know it will serve me as it did when we came over."
"And to think," said Mousqueton, "that we have nothing to fight seasickness with but barley bread and hop beer. Pah!"
"But where is your wicker flask, Monsieur Mousqueton? Have you lost it?" asked Blaisois.
"No," replied Mousqueton, "Parry kept it. Those devilish Scotchmen are always thirsty. And you, Grimaud," he said to his companion, who had just come in after his round with D'Artagnan, "are you thirsty?"
"As thirsty as a Scotchman!" was Grimaud's laconic reply.
And he sat down and began to cast up the accounts of his party, whose money he managed.
"Oh, lackadaisy! I'm beginning to feel queer!" cried Blaisois.
"If that's the case," said Mousqueton, with a learned air, "take some nourishment."
"Do you call that nourishment?" said Blaisois, pointing to the barley bread and pot of beer upon the table.
"Blaisois," replied Mousqueton, "remember that bread is the true nourishment of a Frenchman, who is not always able to get bread, ask Grimaud."
"Yes, but beer?" asked Blaisois sharply, "is that their true drink?"
"As to that," answered Mousqueton, puzzled how to get out of the difficulty, "I must confess that to me beer is as disagreeable as wine is to the English."
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