"Come, Doctor," said he, "you must stir your old stumps."
"Now, Soapy," said another; and in a moment "Soapy" and the "Doctor"
were hustled round and round; we preferred to sit still and witness the
fun, otherwise our spurs would have left their marks on the shins of the
clodhoppers. Tired of dancing, they began to push one another about.
One man had his face blackened, but he was evidently unaware of it; some
one pushed this man against the "Doctor," and they both fell on the
saw-dusted floor together; "Soapy" was pushed on the top of them, Dick
and Sam, the rival smokers, being topmost of all. "Murder!" shouted the
"Doctor;" the landlord came, and peace was soon restored.
After this row I noticed a lot of little round objects strewed all over
the floor, which on examination proved to be empty pill-boxes. The
mystery was now unravelled: the "Doctor" was a travelling quack, and
"Soapy" had been eating his pills, to which he had helped himself from
the "Doctor's" pockets. When asked how he liked the pills, he said they
were "very good," and he thought they were "only comfits" (a mixture of
flour and sugar). He had abstracted and actually eaten the contents of
seventeen boxes, enough to "kill six horses," as the "Doctor" said, by
reason of their powerful purgative properties. He felt "Soapy's" pulse,
and talked of the stomach-pump, which did not in the least alarm the
half-wit, who declared that he "could eat a wheelbarrow full of them."
"Well," said the Doctor, "I would not be in your place for all the
world."
We remained over an hour after this, during which no change took place
in "Soapy's" ordinary health, and meeting him in barracks about ten days
after, I asked him whether the pills had made him ill. He replied, "No,
not yet, but I expect they will do so, before long."