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My one source of embarrassment is that Ash, the timber-getter in the camp across the creek, is continually bringing me expensive bottles of Simpkins's Red Marvel, his genuine kindness necessitating not only elaborate pretences of regularly consuming his pernicious specific for every human ill, from consumption and 'bad legs' to snake-bites, but also periodical discussions with him of all my confounded symptoms a topic which wearies me almost to tears.
That-and-T'other's china-closet, all the minute items of Miss Simpkins's wedding-clothes, and how her mother cried, the morning of the wedding, and said that she didn't know anything how she could spare Louisa Jane, only that Edward was such a good boy that she felt she could love him like an own son, and what a providence it seemed that the very ring that was put into the bride-loaf was one that he gave her when he first went to sea, when she wouldn't be engaged to him because she thought she loved Thomas Strickland better, but that was only because she hadn't found him out, you know, and so forth, and so forth.
I useter to swear by Blick's Backache Pills; but now, I wouldn't have them on me mind. They're no class at all, be this stuff. Give me Simpkins's Red Marvel, every time, an' I don't care if it snows! You try it, Mr. Freydon. I gladly abide by my word of yesterday. The portion of my days here in the bush which I like best is the dawn time.
Oh, he was a cruel child for certain, but he had to pay in the end, and after. 'After? said Uncle Oldys, with a frown. 'Oh yes, Doctor, night after night in old Mr. Simpkins's time, and his son, that's our Mr. Simpkins's father, yes, and our own Mr. Simpkins too.
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