Concho reasoned, not illogically, that if he were to be physicked at all he ought to get the worth of his money.

The grotesque extravagance of life, of fruit and vegetables, in California was inconsistent with infinitesimal doses.

In Concho's previous illness the doctor had given him a dozen 4 grain quinine powders.
The following day the grateful Mexican walked into the Doctor's office--cured.

The Doctor was gratified until, on examination, it appeared that to save trouble, and because his memory was poor, Concho had taken all the powders in one dose.

The Doctor shrugged his shoulders and--altered his practice.
"Well," said Dr.Guild, as Concho sank down exhaustedly in one of the Doctor's two chairs, "what now?
Have you been sleeping again in the tule marshes, or are you upset with commissary whisky?
Come, have it out." But Concho declared that the devil was in his stomach, that Judas Iscariot had possessed himself of his spine, that imps were in his forehead, and that his feet had been scourged by Pontius Pilate.
"That means 'blue mass,'" said the Doctor.