a piece of red cheesecloth—not white, remember—and add one teaspoonful of sugar, one of salt, one of ginger, one of mustard, one of hog's lard, one of mercury, one of arrowroot, one of kerosene oil, one of lemon juice, one of extract of vanilla, one of mushamusha"
"Hold on, Rover, I can't remember all that I'll have to put it down," interrupted Nat Ricks.
"No, you don't put it down until everything is in and well mixed. Then you put it down, half a pint at a time, four times a day. It's a sure cure, and inside of a week after taking seventeen quarts and rubbing the empty bottles on your left shoulder blade you'll feel like dancing a jig of joy; really, you will."
"Oh, you go along!" growled the old station master, in sudden wrath. "You're joking me. Go on, or I'll throw something at you!"
"No bouquets, please, Mr. Ricks. Then you won't try the cure? All right, but don't blame me if your rheumatism gets worse. And as I can't do anything for you, will you kindly inform me if you've seen anything of Jack Ness around here, with our turnout?"
"If you want your hired man you go find him yourself," growled the station master, and hobbled into his office.
"Oh, Tom, but that was rich," laughed Sam softly. "When you said extract of vanilla and
