"That bottle, sir, contains a remedy for all known diseases, and all unknown ones, for all that I can tell. In fact, I have a suspicion that it is to the unknown diseases that it will come as the greatest blessing. Patent medicines generally do. Those mysterious maladies which, up to the advent of 'Aunt Jane's Jalap,' have baffled all the resources of medical science. Give me a day or two and I will prove it. I will bring you testimonials which will make your hair stand up on end, and--" He paused, looking me fixedly in the face--"all genuine."
That evening I had a small dinner-party. It was rather an occasion. The suggestion, I am bound to admit, had come from Margaret.
"My dear George, it's the easiest thing in the world, and you could do it nicely! Why don't you ask us to dinner? Aunt and I, and old Pybus to round it off." Square it off, I suspect she meant, because, of course, that would make four with me. But I didn't correct her. "And then you and I could look over the house together--after dinner."
So I asked them. And they came. Old Pybus said he would be delighted. I don't care for Pybus myself, but Mrs. Chalmers does, and this was an occasion on which her taste had to be consulted rather than mine. And during dinner I began on "Aunt Jane's Jalap."
"Well, it's all settled with Hughes."
I addressed myself to Margaret.
"What about?"
"'Aunt Jane's Jalap.'"
Mrs. Chalmers put down her spoon. This was while the soup was on.
"'Aunt Jane's Jalap!' Whatever's that?"