"Well, after the water is boiled," went on Tom, with a side wink at Dick
and Sam, who were already on a broad grin, "you strain it through a
piece of red cheesecloth--not white, remember--and add one teaspoonful
of sugar, one of salt, one of ginger, one of mustard, one of hog's lard,
one of mercury, one of arrowroot, one of kerosene oil, one of lemon
juice, one of extract of vanilla, one of mushamusha----"
"Hold on Rover, I can't remember all that. I'll have to put it down,"
interrupted Nat Ricks.
"No, you don't put it down until everything is in and well mixed. Then
you put it down, half a pint at a time, four times a day. It's a sure
cure, and inside of a week after taking seventeen quarts and rubbing the
empty bottles on your left shoulder blade you'll feel like dancing a jig
of joy; really, you will."
"Oh, you go along!" growled the old station master, in sudden wrath.
"You're joking me. Go oh, or I'll throw something at you!"
"No bouquets, please, Mr. Ricks. Then you won't try the cure? All right,
but don't blame me if your rheumatism gets worse.
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