Chrissie smiled at him, Susan called him Mr. Tucker, and Miss Polson
gave him a glass of her best wine. From the position of an outcast, he
jumped in one bound to that of confidential adviser. Miss Polson told
him many items of family interest, and later on in the afternoon
actually consulted him as to a bad cold which Chrissie had developed.
He prescribed half-a-pint of linseed oil hot, but Miss Polson favoured
chlorodyne. The conversation then turned on the deadly qualities of that
drug when taken in excess, of the fatal sleep in which it lulled its
victims. So disastrous were the incidents cited, that half an hour
later, when, her aunt and Susan being out, Chrissie took a small bottle
of chlorodyne from the mantel-piece, the boatswain implored her to try
his nastier but safer remedy instead.
"Nonsense!" said Chrissie, "I'm only going to take twenty drops--one--
two--three--"
The drug suddenly poured out in a little stream.
"I should think that's about it," said Chrissie, holding the tumbler up
to the light.
"It's about five hundred!" said the horrified Tucker. "Don't take that,
miss, whatever you do; let me measure it for you."
The girl waved him away, and, before he could interfere, drank off the
contents of the glass and resumed her seat.
Pages:
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130