“Sure,” concurred the burglar. “It’s a salve suitable for little Minnie when the kitty scratches her finger. I’ll tell you what! We’re up against it. I only find one thing that eases her up. Hey? Little old sanitary, ameliorating, lest-we-forget Booze. Say—this job’s off—’scuse me—get on your clothes and let’s go out and have some. ’Scuse the liberty, but—ouch! There she goes again!” “For a week,” said the citizen. “I haven’t been able to dress myself without help. I’m afraid Thomas is in bed, and—” “Climb out,” said the burglar, “I’ll help you get into your duds.” The conventional returned as a tidal wave and flooded the citizen. He stroked his brown-and-gray beard. “It’s very unusual—” he began. “Here’s your shirt,” said the burglar, “fall out. I knew a man who said Omberry’s Ointment fixed him in two weeks so he could use both hands in tying his four-in-hand.” As they were going out the door the citizen turned and started back. “‘Liked to forgot my money,” he explained; “laid it on the dresser last night.” The burglar caught him by the right sleeve. “Come on,” he said bluffly. “I ask you. Leave it alone. I’ve got the price. Ever try witch hazel and oil of wintergreen?” IX. AT ARMS WITH MORPHEUS I never could quite understand how Tom Hopkins came to make that blunder, for he had been through a whole term at a medical college—before he inherited his aunt’s fortune—and had been considered strong in therapeutics. We had been making a call together that evening, and afterward Tom ran up to my rooms for a pipe and a chat before going on to his own luxurious apartments. I had stepped into the other room for a moment when I heard Tom sing out: “Oh, Billy, I’m going to take about four grains of quinine, if you don’t mind— I’m feeling all blue and shivery. Guess I’m taking cold.” “All right,” I called back. “The bottle is on the second shelf. Take it in a spoonful of that elixir of eucalyptus. It knocks the bitter out.” After I came back we sat by the fire and got our briars going. In about eight minutes Tom sank back into a gentle collapse. I went straight to the medicine cabinet and looked. “You unmitigated hayseed!” I growled. “See what money will do for a man’s brains!” There stood the morphine bottle with the stopple out, just as Tom had left it. I routed out another young M.D. who roomed on the floor above, and sent him for old Doctor Gales, two squares away. Tom Hopkins has too much money to be attended by rising young practitioners alone. When Gales came we put Tom through as expensive a course of treatment as the resources of the profession permit. After the more drastic remedies we gave him citrate of caffeine in frequent doses and strong coffee, and walked him up and down the floor between two of us. Old Gales pinched him and slapped his face and worked hard for the big check he could see in the distance. The young M.D. from the next floor gave Tom a most hearty, rousing kick, and then apologized to me.