Algernon Blackwood

“ There was just time to hide the bottle in my hand when he entered.
“Awful headache I’ve got,” he said. “Can’t make out what’s wrong with me. Such funny pains, too.”
“Aftereffects of the seasick cure, probably. They’ll pass in time,” I suggested. But he remained in bed for a day and a night with all the symptoms of mal de mer on land.
It was many weeks later when I told him the truth, and showed the bottle to prove it⁠—just in time to prevent his telling the chemist, “I have tried your seasick cure and found it absolutely efficacious,” etc. ”

“ He only wants vile sailors, you see, otherwise there’s no test⁠—
“Know what’s in it?” He shook his head so violently that I was afraid for the eyebrows.
“But I believe in it. It’s simply wonderful stuff; no bromide, he assured me, and no harmful drugs. Just a seasick cure; that’s all!”
“I’ll take it if you will,” I laughed. “I could take poison with impunity before going on the Channel!”
He gave me one bottle. “Take a dose tonight,” he explained, “another after breakfast in the morning, another in the train, and another the moment you go on board.” ”

“ It’s good for other things, too; it made me sleep like a top, and I had the appetite of a horse for breakfast. That chemist’ll make his fortune when he brings it out. People will pay a pound a bottle, lots of ’em. ”