As he poured out the nauseous draught, the smell alone was so horrible that I resolved to do anything rather than take it. Spellman, however, fearing that he should be detected if he refused, held his nose with his finger and thumb, and with many a wry face gulped it down. "Don't you think a little more would do him good?" said I, in a hurried tone. "I don't want any myself; the fact is, Macquoid, that the plasters you put on yesterday did me so much good, and you have treated me so well altogether, that I feel getting quite well and strong, and have been waiting all the morning for your coming, to ask if I might get up." Macquoid shook his head at me. "We'll see how the wound looks first," said he. "But you must take a little of my elixir asafoetidae et liquorice first. You evidently properly appreciate its virtues by recommending that Spellman should have more of it." "Ah, but you know, as you often say, when you drink up my grog, `What's one man's meat, is another man's poison,'" I answered promptly, for Macquoid was very fond of making use of all sorts of proverbs, especially when he wished to show that he was right in anything he chose to do. "I have no doubt that it will do Spellman a great deal of good, or of course you would not give it to him, it would be meat to him; but as I am perfectly free of pains it would be positively throwing it away on me, though I don't say it would be poison, of course not." "Oh, you humbug, you arrant humbug," exclaimed Spellman, sitting up in his hammock and clenching his fist at me. "Why, not five minutes ago, you were groaning away worse than I was--that he was, Macquoid. Give him some of your beastly stuff. It's not fair that I should take it, and not him. He promised to keep me company." "When the pains return he shall have more of it, depend on that," said Macquoid, scarcely able to dress my wound for laughing. "He has tasted it already. You shall have his allowance to-morrow if you are not better."