Mrs. W. It would, indeed, be a boon, could some efficacious specific be found to war with that most terrible disorder.
Fer. My dear aunt, it has been found. It may seem a curious thing to say, but, when I inquired after your health—which, of course, I did the moment I came into the house—and my uncle told me that you suffered from neuralgia, I was positively glad to know that I could be the happy means of at once and permanently relieving you from all pain.
Mrs. W. If what you say is true, nephew, you will be a benefactor to suffering humanity. You should deem yourself very fortunate to be such an instrument.
Fer. My dear aunt, I do think myself fortunate. To be running about from morning to night, as I am, continually relieving my fellow creatures from the excruciating pangs of neuralgia, makes life one long summer's day of happiness. It makes me so light-hearted that I'm always singing, or humming, or whistling, and so I'm known among my friends as the musical instrument.
Mrs. W. And what, may I ask, is your remedy?
Fer. The simplest thing in the world. You take—(feeling in his pocket for bottle)—Hullo! By Jove!—(seeing bottle on table)—Ah! yes, to be sure, I left it here. You take two or three drops of this colorless fluid, make the smallest of punctures in the lobe of the right ear, inject it, and the pain goes as if by magic. If you are suffering now, aunt—
Mrs. W. I am always suffering.
Fer. Then let me try.
Mr. W. Yes, my dear. Let Ferdinand try.
Mrs. W. It is your wish that I should do so, Mr. Watmuff?