"What can she know of me?" I asked indignantly.
"Give it up," said he. "Can't guess it. But that ain't the p'int. The p'int is, what are you goin' to give her? When I was young the doctors used to say, When you are in doubt, give calomel—as if you were playin' trumps."
"Nonsense, nonsense," said I, my eyes earnestly fixed upon my open medical case.
"I suppose a mustard-plaster on the back of her neck—"
"Wouldn't do at all," I interrupted. "Wait a minute, now—yes—I know what I will do: I will give her sodium bromide—ten grains."
"`Which will hit if it's a deer and miss if it's a calf' as the hunter said?" inquired Uncle Beamish.
"It will certainly not injure her," said I, "and I am quite sure it will be a positive advantage. If there has been cerebral disturbance, which has subsided temporarily, it will assist her to tide over the interim before its recurrence."
"All right," said Uncle Beamish, "give it to me, and I'll be off. It's time I showed up ag'in."
He did not stay up-stairs very long this time.
"No symptoms yit, but the patient looked at me as if she wanted to say somethin'; but she didn't git no chance, for the old lady set herself down as if she was planted in a garden-bed and intended to stay there. But the patient took the medicine as mild as a lamb."