The fiddle was well improved, till the horsehair all pulled out of the
bow, and it was then twisted up into a fish-line.


XVI

"How limpid you walk!" said a voice behind us, as we were making a
hundred and fifty horse-power effort to reach a table whereon reposed a
volume of Bacon. "What is the cause of your lameness?" It was Mrs.
Partington's voice that spoke, and Mrs. Partington's eyes that met the
glance we returned over our left shoulder. "Gout," said we, briefly,
almost surlily. "Dear me," said she; "you are highly flavored! It was
only rich people and epicacs in living that had the gout in olden
times." "Ah!" we growled, partly in response, and partly with an
infernal twinge, "Poor soul!" she continued, with commiseration, like an
anodyne, in the tones of her voice; "the best remedy I know for it is an
embarkation of Roman wormwood and lobelia for the part infected, though
some say a cranberry poultice is best; but I believe the cranberries is
for erisipilis, and whether either of 'em is a rostrum for the gout or
not, I really don't know. If it was a fraction of the arm, I could jest
know what to subscribe." We looked into her eye with a determination to
say something severely bitter, because we felt allopathic just then; but
the kind and sympathizing look that met our own disarmed severity, and
sinking into a seat with our coveted Bacon, we thanked her. It was very
evident, all the while, that she, or they, stayed, that Ike was seeing
how near he could come to our lame member, and not touch it. He did
touch it sometimes, but those didn't count.


XX