A doctor was called in to see a patient whose native land was Ireland, and
whose native drink was whiskey. Water was prescribed as the only cure. Pat
said it was out of the question; he could never drink it. Then milk was
proposed, and Pat agreed to get well on milk. The doctor was soon summoned
again. Near the bed on which the sick man lay was a table, and on the
table a large bowl, and in the bowl was milk, but strongly flavored with
whiskey.
"What have you here?" said the doctor.
"Milk, doctor; just what you orthered."
"But there's whiskey in it; I smell it."
"Well, doctor," sighed the patient, "there may be whiskey in it, but milk
is my object."