Even the two great Germans had said it was of no use.
The young man wrinkled his brows in deep thought. "What have you been
using?" he inquired, of the nurse.
"Everything. Come here."
She led him into the next room, where a formidable array of bottles and
boxes almost covered a large table. He looked them all over, carefully,
scrutinising the names on the druggist's labels, sniffing here and
there, occasionally holding some one bottle to the light, and finally,
out of sheer youthful curiosity, counting them.
Then he laughed--a cheery, hearty laugh that woke long-sleeping echoes
in the old house and made Allison smile, in the next room. "It seems,"
he commented, "that a doctor has to leave a prescription as other men
leave cards--just as a polite reminder of the call."
"What shall I do with them?"
"Dump 'em all out--I don't care. Or, wait a minute; there's no rush."
He went back to Allison. "I see you've got quite a drug store here. Are
you particularly attached to any special concoction?"
"Indeed I'm not. Most of 'em have hurt--sinfully."
"I don't know that anything has to be painful or disagreeable in order
to be healing," remarked the young man, thoughtfully.
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