Next to meeting a lady acquaintance who,
for reasons best known to herself, don't see you when she looks at you,
and don't know you when she does see you, it is the most uncomfortable
thing in the world.
But, as I was saying, when the sheet-bath failed to cure my cough,
a lady friend recommended the application of a mustard plaster to my
breast. I believe that would have cured me effectually, if it had not
been for young Wilson. When I went to bed, I put my mustard plaster
--which was a very gorgeous one, eighteen inches square--where I could
reach it when I was ready for it. But young Wilson got hungry in the
night, and here is food for the imagination.
After sojourning a week at Lake Bigler, I went to Steamboat Springs, and,
besides the steam-baths, I took a lot of the vilest medicines that were
ever concocted. They would have cured me, but I had to go back to
Virginia City, where, notwithstanding the variety of new remedies I
absorbed every day, I managed to aggravate my disease by carelessness and
undue exposure.
I finally concluded to visit San Francisco, and the first day I got
there a lady at the hotel told me to drink a quart of whisky every
twenty-four hours, and a friend up-town recommended precisely the same
course.
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