She sniffed at it.
"It has a very disagreeable smell."
That was good. I protest that I have smelt "Daddy's Delight" when I was passing the house, and took it--till I knew better--for drains.
"Margaret, a glass of 'Aunt Jane's Jalap.'"
"But, George, I assure you that I never do take medicine."
"Some people's wine is no better than medicine. We drink that, and pretend we like it. Why not jalap?"
This was Pybus! As he had just before been making insinuations about my wine, the allusion was pointed. But the man's proverbial.
"No heeltraps--'Aunt Jane's Jalap'--with the honours!"
We all stood up. I drained my glass. I immediately wished I hadn't. The others drained their glasses. I saw they wished they hadn't too. I do not think I ever tasted anything quite so nasty. I wished I had sampled it before. As it was, it took me by surprise, so much by surprise that my first impulse was to fly for shelter. It was like--well, the taste was really so exceedingly disagreeable that comparison fails me.
"It is a case of kill or cure," observed Pybus, with the most extraordinary expression of countenance I ever saw. "The man who takes much of that stuff will be killed if he isn't cured. Death for me, rather than 'Aunt Jane's Jalap'--if it is jalap."