Then Aunt Selina's voice from the other end of the table:

"Bella," she called, in a high shrill tone, "do you let James eat
cucumbers?"

"I think he must be," I said hurriedly aside to Mr. Harbison.
"See how his hands shake!" But Selina would not be ignored.

"Cucumbers and strawberries," she repeated impressively. "I was
saying, Bella, that cucumbers have always given James the most
fearful indigestion. And yet I see you serve them at your table.
Do you remember what I wrote you to give him when he has his
dreadful spells?"

I was quite speechless; every one was looking, and no one could
help. It was clear Jim was racking his brain, and we sat staring
desperately at each other across the candles. Everything I had
ever known faded from me, eight pairs of eyes bored into me, Mr.
Harbison's politely amused.

"I don't remember," I said at last. "Really, I don't believe--"
Aunt Selina smiled in a superior way.

"Now, don't you recall it?" she insisted. "I said: 'Baking soda in
water taken internally for cucumbers; baking soda and water
externally, rubbed on, when he gets that dreadful, itching
strawberry rash.'"

I believe the dinner went on. Somebody asked Aunt Selina how much