“It was interesting to note that condensed milk did not appeal to its palate,” remarks th’ perfessor, makin’ more notes in his book.
“My ——,” sez Magpie. “Did yuh try to feed it cold canned milk?”
“Yes, did it need warming?” asks th’ lady.
“Shore thing. They won’t eat it cold. Next time yuh wants to set th’ can on the stove fer about fifteen minutes.”
“Live and learn,” quotes th’ doc. “I knew something was wrong.”
That night Mighty Jones comes over to git somethin’ fer uh tooth ache.
“Gol’ A’mighty,” sez he. “I got to have somethin’ or lose my mind.”
“If that’s all, yuh ain’t so danged bad off,” sez Magpie. “But rather than see yuh lose somethin’ yuh never had I’ll let yuh take our Jap oil bottle. Rub uh li’l on th’ tooth, and she’ll be better than new.”
Mighty takes th’ bottle and goes off down th’ trail holdin’ on to his jaw. Did yuh ever hear of Jap oil? It’s th’ concentrated essense uh dynamite, hell’s fire and asphyxiation. It cures anything. Never knew anybody to ask fer uh second helpin’, but it shore is uh whole medicine chest fer uh prospector. It’s jist as good fer penumonia as it is fer uh busted leg, and I knowed uh feller oncet who kept th’ pack-rats out of his cabin by jist pastin’ th’ label off uh bottle on his front door. Achin’ teeth is jist uh vacation chore to that medicine.
Th’ next mornin’ me and Magpie goes over to do uh li’l work on th’ crick, and th’ doc goes off across th’ hills with his shotgun. Th’ perfessor and th’ badger gits busy watchin’ each, other ag’in. Long about ten o’clock we decides to drift back to camp to see how things is progressin’.