He tried again more carefully, coming
down by way of the mantel.
It was really a most extraordinary spectacle, that great, fat,
apoplectic-looking man upside down and trying to get from the ceiling
to the floor. "That prescription," he said. "Too successful."
"How?"
"Loss of weight--almost complete."
And then, of course, I understood.
"By Jove, Pyecraft," said I, "what you wanted was a cure for fatness!
But you always called it weight. You would call it weight."
Somehow I was extremely delighted. I quite liked Pyecraft for the time.
"Let me help you!" I said, and took his hand and pulled him down.
He kicked about, trying to get a foothold somewhere. It was very like
holding a flag on a windy day.
"That table," he said, pointing, "is solid mahogany and very heavy.
If you can put me under that---"
I did, and there he wallowed about like a captive balloon, while
I stood on his hearthrug and talked to him.
I lit a cigar. "Tell me," I said, "what happened?"
"I took it," he said.
"How did it taste?"
"Oh, BEASTLY!"
I should fancy they all did. Whether one regards the ingredients
or the probable compound or the possible results, almost all of
my great-grandmother's remedies appear to me at least to be
extraordinarily uninviting.
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