n he broke even his own record for foolishness happened
about three weeks later. MacShaughnassy was staying with us at the time,
and on the Friday evening he mixed us a salad, according to a recipe
given him by his aunt. On the Saturday morning, everybody was, of
course, very ill. Everybody always is very ill after partaking of any
dish prepared by MacShaughnassy. Some people attempt to explain this
fact by talking glibly of "cause and effect." MacShaughnassy maintains
that it is simply coincidence.

"How do you know," he says, "that you wouldn't have been ill if you
hadn't eaten any? You're queer enough now, any one can see, and I'm very
sorry for you; but, for all that you can tell, if you hadn't eaten any of
that stuff you might have been very much worse--perhaps dead. In all
probability, it has saved your life." And for the rest of the day, he
assumes towards you the attitude of a man who has dragged you from the
grave.

The moment Jimmy arrived I seized hold of him.

"Jimmy," I said, "you must rush off to the chemist's immediately. Don't
stop for anything. Tell him to give you something for colic--the result
of vegetable poisoning. It must be something very strong, and enough for
four. Don't forget, something to counteract the effects of vegetable
poisoning. Hurry up, or it may be too late."

My excitement communicated itself to the boy. He tumbled back into his
punt, and pushed off vigorously. I watched him land, and disappear in
the direction of the village.

Half an hour passed, but Jimmy did not return. No one felt sufficiently
energetic to go after him. We had only just strength enough to sit still
and feebly abuse him. At the end of an hour we were all feeling very
much better. At the end of an hour and a half we were glad he had not
returned when he ought to have, and were only curious as to what had
become of him.

In the evening, strolling through the village, we saw him sitting by the
open door of his mother's cottage, with a shawl wrapped round him. He
was looking worn and ill.

"Why, Jimmy," I said, "what's the matter? Why didn't you come back this
morning?"

"I couldn't, sir," Jimmy answered, "I was so queer. Mother made me go to
bed."

"You seemed all right in the morning," I said; "what's made you queer?"

"What Mr. Jones give me, sir: it upset me awful."

A light broke in upon me.

"What did you say, Jimmy, when you got to Mr. Jones's shop?" I asked.

"I told '