“What do you think of vinegar and brown paper?” inquired the suffering Fledgeby, still rocking and moaning. “Does it look as if vinegar and brown paper was the sort of application?”

“Yes,” said Miss Jenny, with a silent chuckle. “It looks as if it ought to be Pickled.”

Mr. Fledgeby collapsed under the word “Pickled,” and groaned again. “My kitchen is on this floor,” he said; “you’ll find brown paper in a dresser-drawer there, and a bottle of vinegar on a shelf. Would you have the kindness to make a few plasters and put ’em on? It can’t be kept too quiet.”

“One, two — hum — five, six. You’ll want six,” said the dressmaker.

“There’s smart enough,” whimpered Mr. Fledgeby, groaning and writhing again, “for sixty.”

Miss Jenny repaired to the kitchen, scissors in hand, found the brown paper and found the vinegar, and skilfully cut out and steeped six large plasters. When they were all lying ready on the dresser, an idea occurred to her as she was about to gather them up.

“I think,” said Miss Jenny with a silent laugh, “he ought to have a little pepper? Just a few grains? I think the young man’s tricks and manners make a claim upon his friends for a little pepper?”

Mr. Fledgeby’s evil star showing her the pepper-box on the chimneypiece, she climbed upon a chair, and got it down, and sprinkled all the plasters with a judicious hand. She then went back to Mr. Fledgeby, and stuck them all on him: Mr. Fledgeby uttering a sharp howl as each was put in its place.

“There, young man!” said the dolls’ dressmaker. “Now I hope you feel pretty comfortable?”

Apparently, Mr. Fledgeby did not, for he cried by way of answer, “Oh — h how I do smart!”

Miss Jenny got his Persian gown upon him, extinguished his eyes crookedly with his Persian cap, and helped him to his bed: upon which he climbed groaning. “Business between you and me being out of the question to-day, young man, and my time being precious,” said Miss Jenny then, “I’ll make myself scarce. Are you comfortable now?”

“Oh my eye!” cried Mr. Fledgeby. “No, I ain’t. Oh — h — h! how I do smart!”

The last thing Miss Jenny saw, as she looked back before closing the room door, was Mr. Fledgeby in the act of plunging and gambolling all over his bed, like a porpoise or dolphin in its native element. She then shut the bedroom door, and all the other doors, and going down stairs and emerging from the Albany into the busy streets, took omnibus for Saint Mary Axe: pressing on the road all the gaily-dressed ladies whom she could see from the window, and making them unconscious lay-figures for dolls, while she mentally cut them out and basted them.