The Sovereign Remedy.
Warner had travelled many miles from civilisation before his first patient came to him. The precious box of medicines had all along been kept handy on the waggon. From time to time he got it down, unpacked it, examined the labels, shook the bottles, and carefully repacked them. But, like a real doctor, he did not advertise. It isn't done.
Somehow it did get about at last that he had a box of medicines. How, it doesn't really matter. The fact remains that a native came to the waggon one morning with a strip of bark tied tightly round his forehead, another round his chest, and a third round his belly.
Warner, recognising a case, asked the native what the matter was.
The boy replied: "I have much pain here and here and here," touching the bands of bark in downward succession.
Warner, pleased at getting a patient at last, took the box of medicines from the waggon, opened it, took out the bottles one by one, and examined the labels with the eye of a master.
"Iodine? No, that's for housemaid's knee, gumboils and that sort of thing. Corrosive sublimate? Wounds. Nitrate of potash? No, eyes. Why not a pill? Yes, a pill."
But there were boxes and boxes of them. He picked up one after the other, but met with a check. Each box had on its label the name of its pill contents, followed by the words: "From one to three as ordered by the physician." In some cases: "From two to six." There was nothing about the complaint for which the pill might be used.
Just a little difficult. Doctoring was not such an easy job after all.
"What's this?"