remnants of catsup and essence of beef and what was left in several bottles of mouth wash; after that a quantity of rejected flavouring extract—topping off by shaking into the mouth of the bottle various powders from small pink papers, relics of Mr. Schofield's influenza of the preceding winter.
Sam examined the combination with concern, appearing unsatisfied. "We got to make that small pox medicine good and strong!" he remarked; and, his artistic sense growing more powerful than his appetite, he poured about a quarter of the licorice water into the smallpox medicine.
"What you doin'?" protested Penrod. "What you want to waste that lickrish water for? We ought to keep it to drink when we're tired."
"I guess I got a right to use my own lickrish water anyway I want to," replied the prescription clerk. "I tell you, you can't get smallpox medicine too strong. Look at her now!" He held the bottle up admiringly. "She's as black as lickrish. I bet you she's strong all right!"
"I wonder how she tastes?" said Penrod thoughtfully.
"Don't smell so awful much," observed Sam, sniffing the bottle—"a good deal, though!"
