“There is a considerable swelling, an appearance of inflammation, and the legs are a curious colour. You gave him three-quarters of a tumbler of rum—how much honey?”
Thus addressed, Joe Petty, leaning his head a little to one side, answered:
“Not 'alf a pot, sir.”
“Um! There are all the signs here of something quite new. He's not had a fall, has he?”
“Has he?” said Mrs. Petty severely to her husband.
“No,” replied Joe.
“Singular!” said the doctor. Turn him back again; I want to feel his head. Swollen; it may account for his curious way of talking. Well, shove in quinine, and keep him quiet, with hot bottles to his feet. I think we have come on a new war disease. I'll send you the quinine. Good morning.
“Wot oh!” said Joe to his wife, when they were left alone with the unconscious body of their master. “Poor old Guv! Watch and pray!”
“However could you have given him such a thing?”
“Wet outside, wet your inside,” muttered Joe sulkily, “'as always been my motto. Sorry I give 'im the honey. Who'd ha' thought the product of an 'armless insect could 'a done 'im in like this?”