I told her of my affliction of hives and showed her the lumps on my wrists.
"Your blood needs thinning and cooling," she adjudged promptly.

"Wait a minute.

I'll see what can be done for you." And with that she was away and below and back in a trice, in her hand a part glass of water into which she stirred a teaspoonful of cream of tartar.
"Drink it," she ordered, as a matter of course.
I drank it.

And at eleven in the morning she came up to my deck-chair with a second dose of the stuff.

Also she reproached me soundly for permitting Wada to feed meat to Possum.