I did not choose to see any more patients that day, and repaired to the inn where I had agreed to meet Fabricio.  He was there first.  As we found ourselves in a tippling humor, we drank hard, and returned to our employers in a pretty pickle; that is to say, so-so in the upper story.  Senor Sangrado was not aware of my being drunk, because he took the lively gestures which accompanied the relation of my quarrel with the little doctor for an effect of the agitation not yet subsided after the battle.  Besides, he came in for his share in my report; and, feeling himself nettled by the insults of Cuchillo—­

“You have done well, Gil Blas,” said he, “to defend the character of our practise against this little abortion of the faculty.  So he takes upon him to set his face against watery drenches in dropsical cases?  An ignorant fellow!  I maintain, I do, in my own person, that the use of them may be reconciled to the best theories.  Yes, water is a cure for all sorts of dropsies, just as it is good for rheumatisms and the green sickness.  It is excellent, too, in those fevers where the effect is at once to parch and to chill; and even miraculous in those disorders ascribed to cold, thin, phlegmatic, and pituitous humors.  This opinion may appear strange to young practitioners like Cuchillo, but it is right orthodox in the best and soundest systems; so that if persons of that description were capable of taking a philosophical view, instead of crying me down, they would become my most zealous advocates.”

In his rage, he never suspected me of drinking; for to exasperate him still more against the little doctor, I had thrown into my recital some circumstances of my own addition.  Yet, engrossed as he was by what I had told him, he could not help taking notice that I drank more water than usual that evening.

In fact, the wine had made me very thirsty.  Any one but Sangrado would have distrusted my being so very dry as to swallow down glass after glass; but, as for him, he took it for granted in the simplicity of his heart that I had begun to acquire a relish for aqueous potations.

“Apparently, Gil Blas,” said he, with a gracious smile, “you have no longer such a dislike to water.  As Heaven is my judge, you quaff it off like nectar!  It is no wonder, my friend; I was certain you would before long take a liking to that liquor.”

“Sir,” replied I, “there is a tide in the affairs of men; with my present lights I would give all the wine in Valladolid for a pint of water.”

This answer delighted the doctor, who would not lose so fine an opportunity of expatiating on the excellence of water.  He undertook to ring the changes once more in its praise; not like a hireling pleader, but as an enthusiast in a most worthy cause.