25 a.m.--Mixed a dose of brandy and castor-oil in a tumbler. Am told
it slips down like an oyster that way--bad oyster, I should think.
Lieut. True Born jibbed. Reminded him that England expects that every
man will take his castor-oil. Reply unprintable. Apologized a moment
later. Said that his mind was wandering and that he thought he was a
colonel. Reassured him.
12.40 a.m.--Private Merited returned with the M.O. Latter nicely dressed
in musical-comedy pyjamas of ravishing hue, and great-coat, with rose-
tinted feet thrust into red morocco slippers. Held consultation and
explained my treatment. M.O. much impressed, anxious to know whether I
was a doctor. Told him "No," but that I knew all the ropes. First give
patient castor-oil, then diet him and call every day to make sure that he
doesn't like his food. After that, if he shows signs of getting well too
soon, give him a tonic. . . . M.O. stuffy.
Dec. 10.--M.O. diagnosed attack as due to something which True Born
believes to be tobacco, with which he disinfects the house, the
mess-sheds, and the streets of Berkhamsted.
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