Sube's face was a study of excruciating pain as he paused to reply that it was pretty bad and he was afraid a bath would make it a good deal worse.
Mr. Cane was not a hard man. He wished to inflict no unnecessary suffering on any one. Perhaps the application of hot water would be painful. And doubtless the odor of the liniment would evaporate in an hour or two.
"Never mind about the bath," he remitted as he began to gather up his papers in preparation for going back to his office.
As he went down the front steps a few moments later, Mr. Cane narrowly missed being run down by a youth who came bursting round the corner of the house in pursuit of a fleeing cat; and recognizing the fleet-footed pursuer as the erstwhile cripple, he scowled at the deception that had been practiced on him. Then he was struck with humor of the situation, and smiled in spite of himself.
"Miraculous liniment," he chuckled as he started down the street; "but I'm mighty glad the bottle's been broken."
CHAPTER II
ASTONISHING RESULTS
Contrary to Mr. Cane's expectations the odor of the liniment had not evaporated when he came home for the evening meal. It seemed to be stronger than ever, although Sube truthfully insisted that he had not put any more on his injured leg since the first application.
An immediate bath was prescribed, and duly administered, and Sube sat down at the table spotless and germless—but far from odorless. He smelled, it seemed to his family, even worse than before. And in spite of the various heroic processes of deodorization and fumigation through which he was put during the ensuing days, he invariably emerged smiling—and smelling.