Grand-Daddy Whiskers, M.D. | Page 9

shovels, and all the neighbors came with axes, hammers and other tools ready for work.
"Pa Field-Mouse has chosen this spot under the laurel bush," explained Uncle Squeaky. "First we must dig a cellar where he can store his winter's food."
"Don't forget that I want a stone fireplace just like yours, Mr. Squeaky," reminded Debby Field-Mouse. "And a dining-room, also, if you please."
"Ah, yes, Debby! A good living-room, a big pantry--you shall have all the fixings."
They worked busily away. By-and-by, Grand-daddy Whiskers paused to look around.
"It looks pretty fine already," he declared. "I'm having a great vacation day. Plenty of fresh air, sunshine, pine breezes and vigorous exercise make a mouse feel good, Neighbor Field-Mouse. I suppose there will not be much work for old Dr. Whiskers in this healthy country in summertime, because--"
"Dr. Whiskers! Dr. Whiskers!" interrupted Nimble-toes, "this little Skunk says that old Simon Skunk has a dreadful attack of asthma and wants you to come quick."
Down went Grand-daddy's ax, and away he trotted to Gray Rock Bungalow where he had left Granny and his medicine bag.
"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.
"Hello! 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 hoarse 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