Dr. Flip next reported a case of toothache.
"What do the Revised Statutes say?" asked Neptune.
"Beg pardon," said Dr. Flip, "that is in the pharmacopœia."
"Well, what does the farm—whatever it is—say?" roared Neptune.
"Gargle, sire," said Dr. Flip; "the fumes kill the pain." The victim got the gargle treatment.
"Mullygrubs in his back, sire," was the next from Dr. Flip. A lambasting with stuffed clubs was the extra treatment for that, in addition to the ducking.
Then came a strange case, that of a youngster who spends his spare time on board studying mathematics in the hope of getting higher in the service. Dr. Flip went over him with great care. He got out bottles and pills and saws and bandages and plasters. The crowd could see that it was a most serious case.
Dr. Flap was called in consultation. The books were produced and the symptoms were pondered over with many grave shakes of the head. At last Dr. Flip made the right diagnosis.
"'E's got the hypotenuse rampant," he shouted. "My, my! I am astonished that a surgeon of the established reputation of Dr. Wentworth of the United States Navy, sire, should let all these ailments that we have here to-day escape 'im, sire," shouted Dr. Flip.
"Send for Dr. Wentworth!" roared Neptune. Dr. Wentworth came. He told Neptune that he had been a royal subject of his for more than twenty years. Nep softened a bit at that, and then said he was glad to see him again, but how about these strange ailments? Why had he not cured them?