‘Dreadful, thank you, Mama, dear.’

‘That isn’t enough,’ I cried in anguish.  ‘Can’t you——?’

‘No, I can’t, Mama.’

‘This is terrible,’ I broke out, fast becoming hysterical.  ’What is to be done!  Can nothing save her?’

‘I suppose the doctor will bring along a stomach pump,’ said Henry, trying to soothe me.

‘Oh, must he?’ moaned The Kid (ignored).

’Get ’er to put ’er finger down ‘er throat,’ suggested Elizabeth brightly; ‘that’ll work it.’

It was the last straw.  The Kid, though still dutiful, was utterly outraged.  ‘No, no, I won’t,’ she cried in open rebellion.

She looked unhappy.  The soap and water had evidently met the allied forces of ipecac. and salt, and a fierce battle was, no doubt, in progress in her interior at the moment.  ‘I won’t,’ she repeated desperately.

‘Do try, darling,’ implored Henry, ‘and I’ll give you a whole shilling.’

‘No, no, no.  I don’t want any shillings.’  Judging by her expression the soap must have commenced an encircling movement, and the salt and ipecac. were hurrying up reserves.  ’I won’t put my finger down my throat.’

‘What are we to do?’ I said, wringing my hands.  ’I never knew her to be so obstinate.  Why, oh, why doesn’t the doctor come?  The child is beginning to look so strange already.’

‘Well, wot I’d do if I was you,’ suggested Elizabeth, ’is to begin the doses all over again——­’

‘Good,’ said Henry.  ‘Firstly the ipecac.——­’

‘Oh, must I?’ interrupted The Kid.

To my intense relief Marion dashed in at that moment.  ’Have you given her an emetic?’ she demanded breathlessly.

Elizabeth, Henry and I gathered round her with the necessary information.

‘She has had several.  Ipecac.——­’

‘Twice.’

‘Salt and water——­’

‘A cupful.’

‘Warm soap and water——­’

‘One glass.’

‘And,’ I concluded, now in tears, ‘she won’t be sick—­simply won’t!’

‘I do want to, auntie,’ explained The Kid, her child’s sense of justice receiving mortal blows, ‘but I can’t be——­’

Marion stood and gazed at her in awe.  ‘It’s wonderful,’ she murmured, ’amazing!  I think, perhaps, The Lancet would be interested in a letter on the subject.’

‘But what did the doctor say?’ broke in Henry.  ‘Is he coming?’

‘No,’ said Marion, ‘he——­’

‘Why not?’ I asked feverishly.

’Because he said it was all right directly he tasted the contents of the bottle.  But to make quite sure he ’phoned to your chemist, who, it appears, put your name on the bottle instead of The Kid’s.  He was awfully sorry and apologetic.’

‘Sorry!’ I echoed, ’apologetic!  Why, the man’s a monster.  To think of all I’ve suffered through his carelessness.’  I sank down on a chair.  ‘I’m quite overwrought.’