She appealed to Mr. Basket. "Will you, sir?"
Mr. Basket confessed afterwards that for the moment, excusably perhaps, he lost his presence of mind. She had motioned to him to administer the dose. He misunderstood. Taking the glass distractedly, he drained it to the dregs, clapped a hand to his windpipe, and collapsed, sputtering, in a chair facing the Doctor.
"Oh, what have I done?" wailed Miss Marty.
"He deserved it!"
The Doctor pulled himself together, stood erect, and, lurching forward, gripped Mr. Basket by the shoulder.
"Sir, this lady is my affianced wife!"
"Would you—mind—tapping me in the back?" pleaded Mr. Basket, between the catches of his breath.
"Not at all, sir." The Doctor complied. "As I was saying, this lady is my affianced wife. Though Major Hymen were ten thousand times my friend—by placing both hands on your stomach and bending forward a little you will find yourself relieved—though Major Hymen were ten thousand times my friend, it should be over my prostrate body, sir; and so you may go back and tell him!"
"But I can't find him!" almost screamed Mr. Basket.
"He has disappeared!" quavered Miss Marty.