Bastable’s
Certain Cure for Colds
Coughs, Asthma, Shortness of Breath, and all infections of the Chest.
One dose gives immediate relief.
It will cure your cold in one bottle.
Especially the larger size at 3s. 6d.
Order at once of the Makers.
To prevent disappointment.
Makers:
D., O., R., A., N., & H. O. Bastable,
150, Lewisham Road, S.E.
(A halfpenny for all bottles returned.)
Of course the next thing was for one of us to catch a cold and try what cured it; we all wanted to be the one, but it was Dicky’s idea, and he said he was not going to be done out of it, so we let him. It was only fair. He left off his undershirt that very day, and next morning he stood in a draught in his nightgown for quite a long time. And we damped his day-shirt with the nailbrush before he put it on. But all was vain. They always tell you that these things will give you cold, but we found it was not so.
So then we all went over to the Park, and Dicky went right into the water with his boots on, and stood there as long as he could bear it, for it was rather cold, and we stood and cheered him on. He walked home in his wet clothes, which they say is a sure thing, but it was no go, though his boots were quite spoiled. And three days after Noël began to cough and sneeze.
So then Dicky said it was not fair.
“I can’t help it,” Noël said. “You should have caught it yourself, then it wouldn’t have come to me.”
And Alice said she had known all along Noël oughtn’t to have stood about on the bank cheering in the cold.
Noël had to go to bed, and then we began to make the medicines; we were sorry he was out of it, but he had the fun of taking the things.
We made a great many medicines. Alice made herb tea. She got sage and thyme and savory and marjoram and boiled them all up together with salt and water, but she would put parsley in too. Oswald is sure parsley is not a herb. It is only put on the cold meat and you are not supposed to eat it. It kills parrots to eat parsley, I believe. I expect it was the parsley that disagreed so with Noël. The medicine did not seem to do the cough any good.
Oswald got a pennyworth of alum, because it is so cheap, and some turpentine which everyone knows is good for colds, and a little sugar and an aniseed ball. These were mixed in a bottle with water, but Eliza threw it away and said it was nasty rubbish, and I hadn’t any money to get more things with.
Dora made him some gruel, and he said it did his chest good; but of course that was no use, because you cannot put gruel in bottles and say it is medicine. It would not be honest, and besides nobody would believe you.
Dick mixed up lemon-juice and sugar and a little of the juice of the red flannel that Noël’s throat was done up in. It comes out beautifully in hot water. Noël took this and he liked it. Noël’s own idea was liquorice-water, and we let him have it, but it is too plain and black to sell in bottles at the proper price.
Noël liked H. O.’s medicine the best, which was silly of him, because it was only peppermints melted in hot water, and a little cobalt to make it look blue. It was all right, because H. O.’s paintbox is the French kind, with Couleurs non Vénéneuses on it. This means you may suck your brushes if you want to, or even your paints if you are a very little boy.
It was rather jolly while Noël had that cold. He had a fire in his bedroom which opens out of Dicky’s and Oswald’s, and the girls used to read aloud to Noël all day; they will not read aloud to you when you are well. Father was away at Liverpool on business, and Albert’s uncle was at Hastings. We were rather glad of this, because we wished to give all the medicines a fair trial, and grownups are but too fond of interfering. As if we should have given him anything poisonous!
His cold went on—it was bad in his head, but it was not one of the kind when he has to have poultices and can’t sit up in bed. But when it had been in his head nearly a week, Oswald happened to tumble over Alice on the stairs. When we got up she was crying.
“Don’t cry silly!” said Oswald; “you know I didn’t hurt you.” I was very sorry if I had hurt her, but you ought not to sit on the stairs in the dark and let other people tumble over you. You ought to remember how beastly it is for them if they do hurt you.
“Oh, it’s not that, Oswald,” Alice said. “Don’t be a pig! I am so miserable. Do be kind to me.”
So Oswald thumped her on the back and told her to shut up.
“It’s about Noël,” she said. “I’m sure he’s very ill; and playing about with medicines is all very well, but I know he’s ill, and Eliza won’t send for the doctor: she says it’s only a cold. And I know the doctor’s bills are awful. I heard Father telling Aunt Emily so in the summer. But he is ill, and perhaps he’ll die or something.”
Then she began to cry again. Oswald thumped her again, because he knows how a good brother ought to behave, and said, “Cheer up.” If we had been in a book Oswald would have embraced his little sister tenderly, and mingled his tears with hers.
Then Oswald said, “Why not write to Father?” And she cried more
