“The pug,” he explained hoarsely, and continued reading.
“Regularly for a week before his death he drank a saucerful each night—and it eased him wonderfully. You remember his dreadful asthma. It quite left him, and he would lie for hours without movement after drinking it.
“I hastened to buy a bottle—and send it to you all, with my very best wishes,
“Your affectionate
“Aunt Araminta.”
“P.S.—It may have different effects on different people. The cook, silly girl, has given notice.”
And for a space there was silence. Then Horatius picked up the bottle, and in a hushed voice recited the label.
“Cures consumption, eradicates eczema, intimidates itch, and routs rabies. Makes bonny bouncing babies.” He choked slightly, and passed it on to me. There was nothing that milk wouldn’t do. Its effect on the human system was like rare wine, only permanent. It caused a clarity of vision, an improvement in intellect, a brightening of
