y."

"No tendency to shiver, no disposition to stretch?"

"No," said the old man, "no chance for quinine."

"The trouble is," said I, standing before the stove and fixing my mind
upon the case with earnest intensity, "that there are so few symptoms
in brain derangement. If I could only get hold of something tangible--"

"If I was you," interrupted Uncle Beamish, "I wouldn't try to get hold
of nothin'. I would just give her somethin' to keep her where she is
till mornin'. If you can do that, I'll guarantee that any good doctor
can take her up and go on with her to-morrow."

Without noticing the implication contained in these remarks, I
continued my consideration of the case.

"If I could get a drop of her blood," said I.

"No, no!" exclaimed Uncle Beamish, "I'm not goin' to do anything of
that sort. What in the name of common sense would you do with her
blood?"

"I would examine it microscopically," I said. "I might find out all I
want to know."

Uncle Beamish did not sympathize with this method of diagnosis.

"If you did find out there was the wrong kind of germs, you couldn't do
anything with them to-night, and it would just worry you," said the old
man. "I believe that nature will get along fust-rate without any help,
at least till mornin'. But you've got to give her some medicine--not
so much for her good as for our good. If she's not treated we're
bounced. Can't you give her somethin' that would do anybody good, no
matter what's the matter with 'em? If it was the spring of the year I
would say sarsaparilla. If you could mix her up somethin' and put into
it some of them benevolent microbes the doctors talk about, it would be
a good deed to do to anybody."

"The benign bacilli," said I. "Unfortunately I haven't any of them
with me."

"And if you had," he remarked, "I'd be in favor of givin' 'em to the
old woman. I take it they would do, her more good than anybody else.
Come along now, doctor; it is about time for me to go up-stairs and see
how the other stuff acted--not on the patient, I don't mean, but on the
old woman. The fact is, you know, it's her we're dosin'."

"Not at all," said I, speaking a little severely. "I am trying to do
my very best for the patient, but I fear I cannot do it without seeing
her. Don't you think that if you told the old lady how absolutely
necessary--"

"Don't say anything more about that!" exclaimed Uncle Beamish. "I
hoped I wouldn't have to mention it