“Then,” said Dr. Budd, “call on that gentleman on your way home and tell him that the devil will have him in a fortnight.”
A few days beyond the fortnight the old gentleman actually died.
A Dartmoor small farmer came to him one day, suffering from congestion of the lungs. “You go home, and to bed at once,” said Dr. Budd; “and here’s a draught for you to take internally, and here are some leeches to apply externally.”
“Please, your honour, to write it down,” said John.
“Can you read?”
“Yes, I reckon, but my Mary can’t.”
So Dr. Budd wrote the instructions.
A week or fortnight later the patient called again. He was recovered.
“Well,” said the Doctor, “you took my prescriptions?”
“Aye, I reckon I did—and drashy things they were.”