Short Stories
floor. Matt drank the third cupful, and with difficulty man-
aged to get to a chair and sit down. His first paroxysm was
passing. The spasms that afflicted him were dying away. This
good effect he ascribed to the mustard and water. He was safe,
at any rate. He wiped the sweat from his face, and, in the in-
terval of calm, found room for curiosity. He looked at his part-
ner.
A spasm had shaken the mustard can out of Jim's hands,
and the contents were spilled upon the floor. He stooped to
scoop some of the mustard into the cup, and the succeeding
spasm doubled him upon the floor. Matt smiled.
"Stay with it," he encouraged. "It's the stuff all right. It's
fixed me up."
Jim heard him and turned toward him a stricken face,
twisted with suffering and pleading. Spasm now followed
spasm till he was in convulsions, rolling on the floor and yel-
lowing his face and hair in mustard.
Matt laughed hoarsely at the sight, but the laugh broke mid-
way. A tremor had run through his body. A new paroxysm was
beginning. He arose and staggered across to the sink, where,
with probing forefinger, he vainly strove to assist the action of
the emetic. In the end, he clung to the sink as Jim had clung,
filled with the horror of going down to the floor.
The other's paroxysm had passed, and he sat up, weak and
fainting, too weak to rise, his forehead dripping, his lips flecked
with a foam made yellow by the mustard in which he had rolled.
He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, and groans that were like
whines came from his throat.
151