"You drink all that?" asked Bud, pointing to the three bottles when he could get Fah Moo's attention for a moment.
"Can do! Dlink lot—chop-chop!" was the groaning answer the import of it being that he had taken the stuff quickly.
"Whew!" murmured Nort. "Guess there's no hope for him."
"There may be," said Dick. "Sometimes an overdose of poison is its own antidote. He may have taken so much that he'll be sick and that would be the best thing for him."
"He sure took an overdose," declared Bud. "See if you can find some mustard, you fellows. I'll put on a kettle of water to boil. The mustard ought to be mixed with warm water to make it work."
The boys bustled about, Fah Moo, meanwhile, rushing around, clutching his stomach and howling at the top of his voice. Billee and his companions looked in now and then to ask if they could help, or to offer suggestions, more or less useless, but their services were not required. Indeed there was room for no more first-aiders in the small kitchen.
In due time the water was warm, the mustard had been found and a big dose mixed. Then came the difficulty of administering it to the Chinese cook, and a great difficulty it was. As soon as he got the idea that he was to be made to drink something more, and when he had sight of the unappetizing yellow mixture of warm water and mustard in a big bowl, the cook revolted. He retreated into a corner, pulled a chair in front of him and yelled:
"No can do! No can do!"
"But you've got to do!" insisted Bud. "It's the only way to save your life! Drink it!"
"No can dlink! Fah Moo dlink chop-chop—plenty—no can do!"