Grand-Daddy Whiskers, M.D Part 6

"Did you say Simon Skunk was ill?" asked Granny in alarm. "Don't you go a step, Zenas. Remember your solemn promise to fetch us all safe and sound to our attic home before snow flies. How will you do it, I want to ask you, Zenas Whiskers, if Simon Skunk harms you?"

"Better keep away from that Skunk tribe," advised Aunt Squeaky.

Even Mother Graymouse, who was usually so brave, looked anxious.

"Everyone says that Simon is ill-natured. He is a giant beside you, Grand-daddy," she said.

Grand-daddy grew impatient. "I was wondering whether I wished to visit Simon, but I'll be blamed, Hezekiah, if I'm going to be bossed by a lot of women mice! A doctor must be brave. I'll risk it. I'm on my way to Skunk Avenue," and away marched Grand-daddy.

Mrs. Dinah Skunk was watching for Dr. Whiskers.

"Oh, hurry!" she cried. "Simon has wheezed all night and can hardly breathe."

"A strange time o' year to have asthma, Simon," grinned Dr. Whiskers.

"Wheezes mostly come in cold weather."

"Too much woods smoke," gasped poor Simon.

"Ah, I see! Well, let me rub this grease into your chest. You must take two of these pills every half hour until you stop wheezing."

"Haven't any clock," growled Simon.

"How shall I know when to give him the pills, doctor?" asked Dinah.

Grand-daddy scratched his head. He did not wish to lend his watch.

"It takes half an hour to trot from here to Polly-Wog Bridge and back," he decided. "Send a little Skunk to the bridge and give Simon two pills every time the little Skunk gets home. It will keep that little Skunk out of mischief who set the fire.

"One of my ancestors," went on Dr. Whiskers pleasantly, "a great-great-great-grandfather, was a mouse of the wilds, a regular Indian.

He told his children, and the story was repeated until it came down to me, that a hornet's nest smoked in a pipe would cure the worst case of asthma that ever was known."

"Haven't any pipe; no hornet's nest," grumbled Simon.

"Neither have I," chuckled Dr. Whiskers. "I threw mine away after the hired man set the barn afire with a spark from his pipe. I'll try to find a hornet's nest and maybe I can borrow a pipe from Daddy Longlegs. Now take these pills and start young Skunk to trotting. Good-day to you, Simon. I hope you'll feel better soon.

"I'll have the kiddies hunt for a hornet's nest," planned Grand-daddy.

Buster, Wink, and Wiggle met him by the pond.

"All safe, Grand-daddy?" they cried.

"Sure," grinned Grand-daddy. "They are harmless folk. Have you seen a gray paper balloon dangling from the bushes, kiddies?"

"I have," cried Wink. "Uncle said hornets lived in it and they were real fighters."

"I'll fight 'em, then. I want that nest for medicine. Trot ahead and show it to me."

"Hi! hi! Dr. Whiskers!" came a cry from the Lake.

Grand-daddy ran to the water's edge. There sat Grandpa Bull Frog groaning miserably.

"h.e.l.lo! a fish hook!" exclaimed Dr. Whiskers. "Let's see if I can extract it."

He took a sharp instrument from his bag.

"I'll be as careful as possible, Grandpa Bull Frog, but it is bound to hurt you considerable," he explained. "Now open your mouth wide."

Dr. Whiskers twisted and pulled upon the hook. At last, out flew the ugly thing.

"How did it happen?" he asked, wrapping the instrument carefully.

"I've been hoa.r.s.e for years," croaked Grandpa Bull Frog as he wiped away the tears. "Squire Cricket told me that red flannel cured his throat, so when I saw some red flannel dangling from a line right over this log, I grabbed it. I got it easily, and this cruel hook beside. The Giant boy has gone away. I thank you kindly, Dr. Whiskers. Ahem! You might tell Mr.

Squeaky that I say his band played very fine music last evening."

"Better leave fish-hooks alone, hereafter, Grandpa Bull Frog," chuckled Dr. Whiskers. "When you need red flannel, hop over to Wild Rose Cottage.

Granny fetched a good supply from Mrs. Giant's trunk."

[Ill.u.s.tration: Dr. Whiskers twisted and pulled upon the hook.]

"Grand-daddy!" called Wiggle from the grove. "I have the hornet's nest.

Isn't it big? We had a fight with the hornets. I ran away, but Buster and Wink are chuck full of stingers. They want you to come quick. Buster is howling real loud."

Dr. Grand-daddy trotted along the pine-needle path.

"Oh, Grand-daddy, those hornets were full of hot p.r.i.c.kers!" sobbed Buster.

"Wait a bit, kiddies," he called. "I'll mix some mud plasters that will stop the pain. So the hornets won out, did they?"

"No, sir, they didn't!" cried Wink, doubling his little fists. "We beat 'em, Grand-daddy. We got what we went after. Wiggle rolled their nest home."

"I guess you are right, sonny," grinned Grand-daddy. "I'll soon cure the wounds for my brave soldiers. There, you feel better already. Forward march. I want to get back and work on the new bungalow."

But Grand-daddy had just begun to nail up a pantry shelf, when Mother Graymouse beckoned.

He found Tim Scrabble waiting for him.

"Can you go home with me, Dr. Whiskers?" he asked eagerly. "Jimmie and Johnnie have the whooping cough; Janie ate some candy and it made her tooth ache, and Baby Judy has the croup. Worst of all, Polly went into Mrs. Giant's pantry and it is a wonder she ever got back down cellar. She is all rolled up in sticky fly-paper. And me with four sick babies on my paws!"

"I'll come at once, Tim," agreed Dr. Whiskers. "Limpy-toes and I will soon fix things all right."

He called Limpy-toes to help carry his heavy bag.

"We'll not take the automobile," he decided. "The Giants might hear it chug-chug. If you please, Belindy, let Scamper go over and tell Granny that we will probably be home by midnight. She may wish to return and spend the night with you. Now we're off to help that poor Scrabble family."

It was a long journey and there were many doses to be ordered for the little patients. It took a long time to remove Polly's fly-paper with an alcohol bath. Then cure-all salve must be rubbed in where patches of skin came off. But at last every patient was made comfortable. Tim and Polly thanked them again and again.

"Now for our long homeward tramp, Limpy-toes," sighed Grand-daddy wearily.