O'Flaherty, that great Hibernian athlete, unconsciously winced and shuddered like a child at sight of it.

Puddock stirred it with the tip of a tea-spoon, and looked into it with inquisitive disgust, and seemed to smell it from a distance, lost for a minute in inward conjecture, and then with a slight bow, pushed it ceremoniously toward his brother in arms.
'There is not much the matter with me now--I feel well enough,' said O'Flaherty, mildly, and eyeing the mixture askance; and after a little while he looked at Puddock.

That disciplinarian understood the look, and said, peremptorily, shaking up his little powdered head, and lisping vehemently-- 'Lieutenant O'Flaherty, Sir! I insist on your instantly taking that physic.

How you may feel, Sir, has nothing to do with it.

If you hesitate, I withdraw my sanction to your going to the field, Sir.
There's no--there _can_ be--no earthly excuse but a--a miserable objection to a--swallowing a--recipe, Sir--that isn't--that is may be--not intended to please the palate, but to save your _life_, Sir,--remember.