“I’ve got a box of Brandeth’s pills downstairs,” said Clinton. “You’re welcome to a part of them, I’m sure.”
“They wouldn’t do! What can you be thinking of, young man? Do you think there’s no difference between pills?”
“I’m sure I can’t tell, don’t you know?”
“Young man, you are sadly ignorant,” said Timmins, severely. “I’ve got five other kinds of pills downstairs, for different maladies I am subject to, but none of them will take the place of Remedial pills.”
“Will any of them cure seasickness?” asked the dude, eagerly.
“I can give you a remedy for seasickness, Mr. Clinton,” said Mr. Holdfast, the mate, who chanced to overhear the inquiry.
“What is it, Mr. Holdfast? I shall be really grateful, I assure you, if you can cure that beastly malady.”
“Swallow a piece of raw salt pork about an inch square,” said the mate gravely, “and follow it up by a glass of sea water, taken at a gulp.”
“That’s horrid, awfully horrid!” gasped Clinton, shuddering, and looking very pale. “It actually makes me sick to think of it, don’t you know,” and he retreated to the cabin, with one hand pressed on his stomach.
“That young man’s a fool!” said Mr. Timmins. “He knows no more about pills than a baby.”