“What you doin’?” protested Penrod.  “What you want to waste that lickrish water for?  We ought to keep it to drink when we’re tired.”

“I guess I got a right to use my own lickrish water any way I want to,” replied the prescription clerk.  “I tell you, you can’t get smallpox medicine too strong.  Look at her now!” He held the bottle up admiringly.  “She’s as black as lickrish.  I bet you she’s strong all right!”

“I wonder how she tastes?” said Penrod thoughtfully.

“Don’t smell so awful much,” observed Sam, sniffing the bottle—­“a good deal, though!”

“I wonder if it’d make us sick to drink it?” said Penrod.

Sam looked at the bottle thoughtfully; then his eye, wandering, fell upon Duke, placidly curled up near the door, and lighted with the advent of an idea new to him, but old, old in the world—­older than Egypt!

“Let’s give Duke some!” he cried.

That was the spark.  They acted immediately; and a minute later Duke, released from custody with a competent potion of the smallpox medicine inside him, settled conclusively their doubts concerning its effect.  The patient animal, accustomed to expect the worst at all times, walked out of the door, shaking his head with an air of considerable annoyance, opening and closing his mouth with singular energy—­and so repeatedly that they began to count the number of times he did it.  Sam thought it was thirty-nine times, but Penrod had counted forty-one before other and more striking symptoms appeared.

All things come from Mother Earth and must return—­Duke restored much at this time.  Afterward, he ate heartily of grass; and then, over his shoulder, he bent upon his master one inscrutable look and departed feebly to the front yard.

The two boys had watched the process with warm interest.  “I told you she was strong!” said Mr. Williams proudly.

“Yes, sir—­she is!” Penrod was generous enough to admit.  “I expect she’s strong enough——­” He paused in thought, and added: 

“We haven’t got a horse any more.”

“I bet you she’d fix him if you had!” said Sam.  And it may be that this was no idle boast.

The pharmaceutical game was not resumed; the experiment upon Duke had made the drug store commonplace and stimulated the appetite for stronger meat.  Lounging in the doorway, the near-vivisectionists sipped licorice water alternately and conversed.

“I bet some of our smallpox medicine would fix ole P’fessor Bartet all right!” quoth Penrod.  “I wish he’d come along and ask us for some.”

“We could tell him it was lickrish water,” added Sam, liking the idea.  “The two bottles look almost the same.”

“Then we wouldn’t have to go to his ole cotillon this afternoon,” Penrod sighed.  “There wouldn’t be any!”

“Who’s your partner, Pen?”

“Who’s yours?”

“Who’s yours?  I just ast you.”

“Oh, she’s all right!” And Penrod smiled boastfully.