She sat for some few moments in deep thought. Then she arose with an air of determination, saying: “The remedy is severe, but if it only effects a cure I can rejoice.”
She bent over the sleeping man and pinched him several times, calling him by name. He slept on. The only difference being that he snored more musically than before. Mary smiled. “He will never know,” she whispered. Then stepping to his dressing room, she brought forth his shaving materials. She had often watched him shave, and thought it an easy matter to handle a razor. She did not think so now when, after lathering well his head, she attempted to remove the hair without cutting the scalp. She stopped in despair after three unsuccessful attempts. Then with renewed energy which challenged defeat, she began again, and in a short time, though it could not be called a work of art, Roger’s head was shorn of its curly black locks, and Mary viewed her work with satisfaction. She called a servant and despatched him for a pound of mustard, and when she received it she was not long in making several plasters, and applying them to various parts of Roger’s body where their superior qualities would be appreciated the most. Then she sat down to await the result. She had not changed her pretty dress. It was nearly ruined, but she did not give a thought to that. She wanted Roger to see her still in evening dress.
Presently a groan followed by another still louder told that her patient was awakening. “Water, water,” he moaned, “for God’s sake give me water! I’m burning to death. Am I in hell? Mary, Mary, where are you? Where am I? What has happened me?”
Mary knelt by his side. “Oh Roger! dear Roger, how thankful I am to hear you speak once more. You have been very, very ill.”
“Then I am on earth,” he said feebly, trying to raise his head from the pillow so as to gaze fully upon the familiar objects scattered about. “I thought I’d got ’em again, or something. Suffering Job, what am I in, a bed of fire? Talk of torments. There is no worse torment than this.”
He uttered another cry which rang through the room.
Mary turned her face to hide her smiles, and said sweetly: “They are only mustard plasters dear husband. Don’t revile them. They have saved your life. They are grandfather’s great cure all’s for every ill and——”
“Damn grandfather and his plasters!” broke in Roger, savagely grinding his teeth. “Take ’em off. Do you hear me? Take ’em off.”
Mary was willing to obey, as by this time a good blister from each one was sure to have matured, but she moderately took her time. “Not until you beg my pardon for swearing at grandfather. You have good cause to bless him, for if it had not been for his remedy you would surely have died.”
“Father Isaac and all the patriarchs! will you stop your silly twaddle, and remove these rags, or by heaven! when they do come off I’ll clap ’em on to you.”