Chapter XCII

A crab who had travelled from the mouth of the Indus all the way to Ispahan, knocked, with much chuckling, at the door of the King's physician.

"Who's there?" shouted the doctor, from his divan within.

"A bad case of _cancer_," was the complacent reply.

"Good!" returned the doctor; "I'll _cure_ you, my friend."

So saying, he conducted his facetious patient into the kitchen, and potted him in pickle. It cured him--of practical jocularity.

May the fable heal _you_, if you are afflicted with that form of evil.