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.