“Then take this.” And Dr. B. administered a half tea-spoonful of ipecac, to bring up the lobelia. So far was good.
“Now a basin of water and a sponge,” said Dr. B., which being procured, he seemed to examine for a moment very curiously; then ordered the face, neck, arms, and hands of the patient bathed well with the fluid.
On the following morning Dr. B. was sent for, post haste, with the cheering message that “mortification had set in, and his patient was dying.”
Off posted the doctor, calling several neighbors, en route, who thronged the apartment of the invalid doctor in speechless astonishment.
CURIOUS EFFECT OF A FEVER.
“I’m dying, Dr. B.; O, I’m dying,” groaned S., rolling to and fro on his bed.
“No, you are not. I told you before, no such good news. Your fever is all gone. You are scared—that’s what’s the matter,” replied Dr. B.
“But look, just look at the color of my skin,—all mortifying,” said S.
“O, no; that is merely dyed with nitrate of silver. It’s much better than poke-berries—much better,” repeated Dr. B.