"It seems all right to me," he observed.
"There's nothing wrong with the smell," admitted Mrs. Jones. "It's the colour wot I'm speakin' about."
"What's the matter with the colour?" demanded Colin. "Some of the best medicines are red."
"Not mine," returned Mrs. Jones doggedly. "My medicine's yeller, always 'as bin. The moment I set me eyes on that bottle I says to meself, ''E's made a mistake.'"
"Then why on earth did you take it?"
Mrs. Jones looked a trifle surprised. "Well, young man, I'd paid ninepence for it, an', not knowin' then as it was pizen, I didn't see no reason for wastin' the money."
"And you say it made you ill?"
"It's only through the mercy o' Gawd that I'm sittin' 'ere now," said Mrs. Jones impressively. "D'rec'ly the third dose passed me lips I come over queer."
Colin poured out a little of the medicine into a glass and tasted it judiciously.
"I don't think you've any reason to be anxious, Mrs. Jones," he said. "Doctor Ashton was only trying you with a new prescription. It's a very good one indeed, but I suppose it doesn't quite suit your constitution."