Even he laughed after a minute or two, when he had got himself thoroughly sewed up and called each bottle by its wrong name.
"Ah! What does it matter!" he exclaimed at last.

"Sore eyes--broken leg--boils--knife-wound--let it be all one.

Give episin salts--always episin.

Then, if we are long in one place, so that a sick man comes a second time, swearing grievously because of episin, give croton.

That person will not come again, but the fame of the _hakim_ will spread far and wide." "You'd much better teach me how a _hakim_ sits a camel," I suggested.
"All ways, sahib, for the _hakim_ is not seldom a _bunnia_ whose parents bought him education.