The Red Acorn [82]
have," said the Doctor, gravely. "As plainly indicated as I ever saw it. Furthermore, it is seriously complicated with fiat justitia ruat caelum, with strong hints of the presence of in media tutissimus ibis."
"Great Scott! can I ever get well?" groaned poor Jake. Rachel's strain was on her risibles, and to make her face express only sympathy and concern.
"And," continued the remorseless Surgeon, in a tone of the kindliest commiseration, "in the absence of the least espirt de corps, and dulce et decorum est pro patria mori feeling in you it is apparent that none of your mental processes are going on properly, which deranges everything."
"Can't I be sent home to die?" whimpered the wretched Jake.
"Not in your present condition. I notice, in addition to what I have told you, that your heart is not right--its action is depraved, so to speak." This with a glance at Rachel, which brought the crimson to that damsel's cheek.
"O, Doctor, please try to do something for me right off, before I get any worse," pleaded Jake, with the tears starting in his eyes.
Rachel took this opportunity to slip away to where she could laugh unobserved. The Surgeon's facial muscles were too well trained to feel any strain. he continued in the same tone of gentle consideration:
"I have already ordered the preparation of some remedies. The Steward will be here in a few minues with the barber, who will shave your head, that we may apply a couple of fly-bisters behind your ears. They are also spreading a big mustard-plaster in th dispensary for you, which will cover your whole breast and stomach. These, with a strong dose of castor-oil, may bring you around so that you will be able to go back to duty in a short time."
Jake did not notice the unsheathed sarcasm in the Surgeon's allusion to returning to duty. He was too delighted with the chance of escaping all the horrors enumerated to think of aught else, and he even forgot to beg for Rachel to come and sit beside his bedside, as he had intended doing, until the blisters began to remind him that they stuck closer than a brother. After that he devoted his entire attention to them, as a man is apt to.
A good-sized blister, made according to the United States Pharmacopoeia, has few equals as a means of concentrating the attention. When it takes a fair hold of its work it leaves the gentleman whom it patronizes little opportunity to think of anything else than it and what it is doing. Everything else is forgotten, taht it may receive full consideration. Then comes in an opportunity for a vigorous imagination. No one ever underestimates the work done by an active blister, if it is upon himself. No one ever grumbles that he is not getting his money's worth. It is the one monumental exception, where men are willing to accept and be satisfied with a fractional part of that which they have bought and paid for.
So when the layer of fresh mustard that covered the whole anterior surface of Mr. Alspaugh's torso began to take a fair hold of its appointed work that gentlemen's thoughts became strangely focused upon it, and they succeeded each other as the minutes went by something in this fashion:
FIRST TEN MINUTES.--"I 'spect that this may become rather unpleasant and bothersome, but it will not be for long, and it'll really do me much good."
SECOND TEN MINUTES.--"I had no idead that blisters felt just this way, but they never really hurt anybody but women and children--MEN laugh at them."
THIRD TEN MINUTES.--"The thing seems to be hunting 'round for my tender spots, and pokin' pins into 'em. I begin to wish that it was all over with."
FOURTH TEN MINUTES.--"It begins to hurt real bad. I wonder if it ain't a'most time to take it off?"
FIFTH TEN MINUTES.--"The very devil seems to be in that thing. It burns like as if a sheet of red-hot iron was layin' there."
SIXTH TEN MINUTES.--"I surely believe that they've made a terrible mistake about that blister, and put in some awful thing that'll kill me if it ain't stopped. I'll swear it's not only eat all the
"Great Scott! can I ever get well?" groaned poor Jake. Rachel's strain was on her risibles, and to make her face express only sympathy and concern.
"And," continued the remorseless Surgeon, in a tone of the kindliest commiseration, "in the absence of the least espirt de corps, and dulce et decorum est pro patria mori feeling in you it is apparent that none of your mental processes are going on properly, which deranges everything."
"Can't I be sent home to die?" whimpered the wretched Jake.
"Not in your present condition. I notice, in addition to what I have told you, that your heart is not right--its action is depraved, so to speak." This with a glance at Rachel, which brought the crimson to that damsel's cheek.
"O, Doctor, please try to do something for me right off, before I get any worse," pleaded Jake, with the tears starting in his eyes.
Rachel took this opportunity to slip away to where she could laugh unobserved. The Surgeon's facial muscles were too well trained to feel any strain. he continued in the same tone of gentle consideration:
"I have already ordered the preparation of some remedies. The Steward will be here in a few minues with the barber, who will shave your head, that we may apply a couple of fly-bisters behind your ears. They are also spreading a big mustard-plaster in th dispensary for you, which will cover your whole breast and stomach. These, with a strong dose of castor-oil, may bring you around so that you will be able to go back to duty in a short time."
Jake did not notice the unsheathed sarcasm in the Surgeon's allusion to returning to duty. He was too delighted with the chance of escaping all the horrors enumerated to think of aught else, and he even forgot to beg for Rachel to come and sit beside his bedside, as he had intended doing, until the blisters began to remind him that they stuck closer than a brother. After that he devoted his entire attention to them, as a man is apt to.
A good-sized blister, made according to the United States Pharmacopoeia, has few equals as a means of concentrating the attention. When it takes a fair hold of its work it leaves the gentleman whom it patronizes little opportunity to think of anything else than it and what it is doing. Everything else is forgotten, taht it may receive full consideration. Then comes in an opportunity for a vigorous imagination. No one ever underestimates the work done by an active blister, if it is upon himself. No one ever grumbles that he is not getting his money's worth. It is the one monumental exception, where men are willing to accept and be satisfied with a fractional part of that which they have bought and paid for.
So when the layer of fresh mustard that covered the whole anterior surface of Mr. Alspaugh's torso began to take a fair hold of its appointed work that gentlemen's thoughts became strangely focused upon it, and they succeeded each other as the minutes went by something in this fashion:
FIRST TEN MINUTES.--"I 'spect that this may become rather unpleasant and bothersome, but it will not be for long, and it'll really do me much good."
SECOND TEN MINUTES.--"I had no idead that blisters felt just this way, but they never really hurt anybody but women and children--MEN laugh at them."
THIRD TEN MINUTES.--"The thing seems to be hunting 'round for my tender spots, and pokin' pins into 'em. I begin to wish that it was all over with."
FOURTH TEN MINUTES.--"It begins to hurt real bad. I wonder if it ain't a'most time to take it off?"
FIFTH TEN MINUTES.--"The very devil seems to be in that thing. It burns like as if a sheet of red-hot iron was layin' there."
SIXTH TEN MINUTES.--"I surely believe that they've made a terrible mistake about that blister, and put in some awful thing that'll kill me if it ain't stopped. I'll swear it's not only eat all the