I'll risk it. I'm on my way to Skunk
Avenue," and away marched Grand-daddy.
Mrs. Dinah Skunk was watching for Dr. Whiskers.
"Oh, hurry!" she cried. "Simon has wheezed all night and can hardly
breathe."
"A strange time o' year to have asthma, Simon," grinned Dr. Whiskers.
"Wheezes mostly come in cold weather."
"Too much woods smoke," gasped poor Simon.
"Ah, I see! Well, let me rub this grease into your chest. You must take
two of these pills every half hour until you stop wheezing."
"Haven't any clock," growled Simon.
"How shall I know when to give him the pills, doctor?" asked Dinah.
Grand-daddy scratched his head. He did not wish to lend his watch.
"It takes half an hour to trot from here to Polly-Wog Bridge and back," he
decided. "Send a little Skunk to the bridge and give Simon two pills every
time the little Skunk gets home. It will keep that little Skunk out of
mischief who set the fire.
"One of my ancestors," went on Dr. Whiskers pleasantly, "a
great-great-great-grandfather, was a mouse of the wilds, a regular Indian.
He told his children, and the story was repeated until it came down to me,
that a hornet's nest smoked in a pipe would cure the worst case of asthma
that ever was known.
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