“It does, awfully. Ye’ll be glad to hear that the chicken question has been satisfactorily settled.”
“What do you mean?”
“I may as well begin at the beginnin’ and tell ye all about it. Of course, you know Mactavish did not send for me until he’d found out that Jenkin was so fou’ he didn’t know colchicum from prussic acid. Well, I went to see the old man. He was sittin’ wi’ his left fut wrapped up and restin’ on a chair, lookin’, well, if he’d only had twa horns and a tail Auld Nick wud have just capered wi’ envy.”
“‘I’m concerned to see ye sae oot o’ sorts, Mr Mactavish,’ said I, seempathetically.
“‘Ah, mon,’ says he, ‘I feel like Dauvid in the fowerty-ninth Psalm when I think o’ that swillin’ swine of a Jenkin. I didna want to trouble ye, Mr Allister, knowin’ how hard ye work, but I juist had to. Hae ye brocht the colchicum wi’ ye?’
“‘Wark never stands in the way o’ my helpin’ a sufferin’ fellow-creature,’ said I, ‘and I can seem-pathise wi’ ye fine just now, for I’m in a bad way myself. The wame o’ me’s just tied into knots wi’ the indigestion.’ Here I gied a groan.
“‘Hoots, mon,’ says he wi’ a screech, ‘indigestion’s nae mair to be compared wi’ gout than a midge is wi’ a mad dog. Gie me the colchicum.’
“‘Mr Mactavish,’ said I, ‘ye’ve evidently no idea how I suffer. Not alone is my wame tied into knots, but sufferin’ has seriously affected my memory. Will ye believe me when I tell ye that I cannot for the life o’ me remember where I put the jar o’ colchicum?’
“With that he sat straight up and stared at me for a bit; then he fell back wi’ a squeal, for a twinge just made him feel as if his big toe were bein’ twisted off.
“‘I’m no sure,’ said I, after a while, ‘but that if I could see some prospect o’ my indigestion gettin’ better, I might concentrate my mind sufficiently to remember where the colchicum is.’