CHAPTER XV.
ÆSCULAPIUS TO THE RESCUE.
It was not until Puddock had returned, that the gallant fireworker
recollected all on a sudden that he had swallowed one of the bags.
'Thwallowed?—thwallowed it!' said Puddock, looking very blank and
uncomfortable; 'why, Thir, I told you you were to be very careful.'
'Why, why curse it, it's not, 'tisn't——'
'There was a long pause, and O'Flaherty stared a very frightened and
hideous stare at the proprietor of the red quarto.
'Not what, Thir?' demanded Puddock, briskly, but plainly disconcerted.
'Not anything—anything bad—or, or—there's no use in purtendin', Puddock,' he resumed, turning quite yellow. 'I see, Sir, I see by your looks, it's what you think, I'm poisoned!'
'I—I—do not, Thir, think you're poisoned,' he replied indignantly, but with some flurry; 'that is, there's a great deal in it that could not pothibly do you harm—there's only one ingredient, yes—or, or, yes, perhapth three, but thertainly no more, that I don't quite know about, depend upon it, 'tis nothing—a—nothing—a—seriouthly—a—But why, my dear Thir, why on earth did you violate the thimple directions—why did you thwallow a particle of it?'
'Och, why did I let it into my mouth at all—the divil go with it!'
retorted poor O'Flaherty; 'an' wasn't I the born eediot to put them
devil's dumplins inside my mouth? but I did not know what I was
doin'—no more I didn't.'
'I hope your head'th better,' said Puddock, vindicating by that
dignified enquiry the character of his recipe.
'Auch! my head be smathered, what the puck do I care about it?'
O'Flaherty broke out. 'Ah, why the devil, Puddock, do you keep them ould
women's charrums and devilments about you?—you'll be the death of some
one yet, so you will.'
'It's a recipe, Sir,' replied Puddock, with the same dignity 'from
which my great uncle, General Neagle, derived frequent benefit.'
'And here I am,' says O'Flaherty, vehemently; 'and you don't know
whether I'm poisoned or no!'
At this moment he saw Dr. Sturk passing by, and drummed violently at the
window. The doctor was impressed by the summons; for however queer the
apparition, it was plain he was desperately in earnest.
'Let's see the recipe,' said Sturk, drily; 'you think you're poisoned—I
know you do;' poor O'Flaherty had shrunk from disclosing the extent of
his apprehensions, and only beat about the bush; 'and if you be, I lay
you fifty, I can't save you, nor all the doctors in Dublin—show me the
recipe.'
Puddock put it before him, and Sturk looked at the back of the volume
with a leisurely disdain, but finding no title there, returned to the
recipe. They both stared on his face, without breathing, while he conned
it over. When he came about half-way, he whistled; and when he arrived
at the end, he frowned hard; and squeezed his lips together till the red
disappeared altogether, and he looked again at the back of the book, and
then turned it round, once more reading the last line over with a severe
expression.
'And so you actually swallowed this—this devil's dose, Sir, did you?'
demanded Sturk.
'I—I believe he did, some of it; but I warned him, I did, upon my
honour! Now, tell him, did I not warn you, my dear lieutenant, not to
thwallow,' interposed little Puddock, who began to grow confoundedly
agitated; but Sturk, who rather liked shocking and frightening people, and had a knack of making bad worse, and an alacrity in waxing savage without adequate cause, silenced him with—
'I p-pity you, Sir,' and 'pity' shot like a pellet from his lips. 'Why
the deuce will you dabble in medicine, Sir? Do you think it's a thing to
be learnt in an afternoon out of the bottom of an old cookery-book?'
'Cookery-book! excuse me, Dr. Sturk,' replied Puddock offended. 'I'm
given to underthtand, Sir, it's to be found in Culpepper.'
'Culpepper!' said Sturk, viciously. 'Cull-poison—you have peppered
him to a purpose, I promise you! How much of it, pray, Sir (to
O'Flaherty,) have you got in your stomach?'
'Tell him, Puddock,' said O'Flaherty, helplessly.
'Only a trifle I assure you,' extenuated Puddock (I need not spell his
lisp), 'in a little muslin bag, about the size of the top joint of a
lady's little finger.'
'Top joint o' the devil!' roared O'Flaherty, bitterly, rousing himself; 'I tell you, Dr. Sturk, it was as big as my thumb, and a miracle it did not choke me.'