“All right, here goes a little more of the clay,” and the third member of the trio, who in the dim light could be identified as Rickford Fussel, put in the pan some of the yellow mud that he and his men had dug from the swamp. “There’s plenty of it—that’s one consolation,” he laughed, “and if it proves to be what we want, why, there’s a fortune in it.”
“Several of them, I should say,” was the opinion of the man who had been called Professor Bailey. He looked at Professor Snodgrass for confirmation.
“Yes,” admitted the little scientist, nodding his head thoughtfully. “There is no reason why this mixture should not replace the old-fashioned poultice and mustard plaster. It seems to be highly efficacious. But I want to make that final test on a large swelling, as I told you, before I give my deciding opinion.”
“And you want to be sure the mixture is just right before you try it; is that it?” asked Fussel.
“That’s it,” said Professor Snodgrass. “You say you have the subject on whom it can be tried?”
“Yes, I’ve got the subject. He’s one of our workmen, and his knee is badly swelled from rheumatism. If this yellow clay, with the medicines we have put in it, will cure that, it will do other things in the medical line that will make it worth all the money we paid for the land, and more too.”
“I think so,” responded Professor Snodgrass, gravely.
Again he bent over the pan that was simmering above the alcohol flame. He put in some more of the yellow clay, that was in a box on the table, and added some glycerine and other things, stirring the mixture slowly. A pleasant, aromatic odor filled the room.
“I think we might now call in the man on whom we are to try the experiment,” said Dr. Snodgrass, after taking some of the mixture, and examining it.
Fussel went to the door and called: