Liniment

Half-past nine o’clock and so, as Mr. Pepys would say, to bed.

But first Cousin Stickles’ neuralgic back must be rubbed with Redfern’s Liniment.

Valancy did that.

Valancy always had to do it.

She hated the smell of Redfern’s Liniment.

She hated the smug, beaming, portly, bewhiskered, bespectacled picture of Dr. Redfern on the bottle.

Her fingers smelled of the horrible stuff after she got into bed, in spite of all the scrubbing she gave them.

And when the specialists could do nothing for her, Uncle James would insist on her taking purple pills.

“Are you sure you ain’t feverish, Doss? You sound like it.

You go and get right into bed,” said Cousin Stickles, thoroughly alarmed, “and I’ll come up and rub your forehead and the back of your neck with Redfern’s Liniment.” Valancy had reached the door, but she turned.

“I won’t be rubbed with Redfern’s Liniment,” she said.

Cousin Stickles stared and gasped.

“What do you mean?” “I said I wouldn’t be rubbed with Redfern’s Liniment,” repeated Valancy.

“Horrid, sticky stuff and it has the vilest smell of any liniment I ever saw.

It’s no good.

She would be taken to Dr. Marsh and when Dr. Marsh confirmed Dr. Trent’s diagnosis she would be taken to specialists in Toronto and Montreal.

Half-past nine o’clock and so, as Mr. Pepys would say, to bed.

But first Cousin Stickles’ neuralgic back must be rubbed with Redfern’s Liniment.

Valancy did that.

Valancy always had to do it.

She hated the smell of Redfern’s Liniment.

She hated the smug, beaming, portly, bewhiskered, bespectacled picture of Dr. Redfern on the bottle.

Her fingers smelled of the horrible stuff after she got into bed, in spite of all the scrubbing she gave them.

As it was not, she turned yellower.

Half-past nine o’clock and so, as Mr. Pepys would say, to bed.

But first Cousin Stickles’ neuralgic back must be rubbed with Redfern’s Liniment.

Valancy did that.

Valancy always had to do it.

She hated the smell of Redfern’s Liniment.

She hated the smug, beaming, portly, bewhiskered, bespectacled picture of Dr. Redfern on the bottle.

Her fingers smelled of the horrible stuff after she got into bed, in spite of all the scrubbing she gave them.

And when the specialists could do nothing for her, Uncle James would insist on her taking purple pills.

“Are you sure you ain’t feverish, Doss? You sound like it.

You go and get right into bed,” said Cousin Stickles, thoroughly alarmed, “and I’ll come up and rub your forehead and the back of your neck with Redfern’s Liniment.” Valancy had reached the door, but she turned.

“I won’t be rubbed with Redfern’s Liniment,” she said.

Cousin Stickles stared and gasped.

“What d’ye mean?” “I said I wouldn’t be rubbed with Redfern’s Liniment,” repeated Valancy.

“Horrid, sticky stuff! And it has the vilest smell of any liniment I ever saw.

It’s no good.

Uncle Benjamin would foot the bill with a splendid gesture of munificence in thus assisting the widow and orphan, and talk forever after of the shocking fees specialists charged for looking wise and saying they couldn't do anything.