TAKING A PRESCRIPTION.
SUMMER before last, the time when cholera had poisoned the air, a gentleman of wealth, standing and intelligence, from one of the Southern or Middle States, while temporarily sojourning in Boston, felt certain "premonitory symptoms," that were rather alarming, all things considered. So he inquired of the hotel-keeper where he could find a good physician.
"One of your best," said he, with an emphasis in his tones that showed how important was the matter in his eyes.
"Doctor—stands at the head of his profession in our city," returned the hotel-keeper. "You may safely trust yourself in his hands."
"Thank you. I will call upon him immediately," said the gentleman, and away he went.
The doctor, fortunately, as the gentleman mentally acknowledged, was in his office. The latter, after introducing himself, stated his case with some concern of manner; when the doctor felt his pulse, looked at his tongue, and made sundry professional inquiries.
"Your system is slightly disturbed," remarked the doctor, after fully ascertaining the condition of his patient, "but I'll give you a prescription that will bring all right again in less than twenty-four hours."
And so he took out his pencil and wrote a brief prescription.
"How much am I indebted, doctor?" inquired the gentleman, as he slipped the little piece of paper into his vest pocket.
"Five dollars for the consultation and prescription," replied the doctor, bowing.
"Cheap enough, if I am saved from an attack of cholera," said the patient as he drew forth his pocket-book and abstracted from its folds the required fee. He then returned to the hotel, and, going to one of the clerks, or bar-keeper, in the office, said to him—
"I wish you would send out and get me this prescription."
"Prescription! Why, Mr.—, are you sick?" returned the bar-keeper.
"I'm not very well," was answered.
"What's the matter?"
"Symptoms of the prevailing epidemic."
"Oh! Ah! And you've been to see a doctor?"
"Yes."
"Who?"
"Doctor—"
The bar-keeper shrugged his shoulders, as he replied—
"Good physician. None better. That all acknowledge. But, if you'll let me prescribe for you, I'll put you all straight in double-quick time."
"Well, what will you prescribe, Andy?" said the gentleman.
"I'll prescribe this." And, as he spoke, he drew from under the counter a bottle labelled—"Mrs.—'s Cordial."
"Take a glass of that, and you can throw your doctor's prescription into the fire."
"You speak confidently, Andy?"
"I do, for I know its virtue."
The gentleman, who had in his hand a prescription for which he had paid five dollars to one of the most skilful and judicious physicians in New England, strange as it may seem, listened to this bar-keeper, and in the end actually destroyed the prescription, and poured down his throat a glass of "Mrs.—'s Cordial."
It is no matter of surprise that, ere ten o'clock in the evening, the gentleman's premonitory symptoms, which had experienced a temporary abatement, assumed a more alarming character. And now, instead of going to, he was obliged to send for, a physician. Doctor—, whom he had consulted, was called in, and immediately recognised his patient of the morning.
"I'm sorry to find you worse," said he. "I did not in the least doubt the efficacy of the remedy I gave you. But, have you taken the prescription."
"Wh—wh—why no, doctor," stammered the half-ashamed patient. "I confess that I did not. I took something else."
"Something else! What was it?"
"I thought a glass of Mrs.—'s cordial would answer just as well."
"You did! and, pray, who prescribed this for you?" said the doctor, moving his chair instinctively from his patient and speaking in a rather excited tone of voice.
"No one prescribed it. I took it on the recommendation of the bar-keeper down-stairs, who said that he knew it would cure me."
"And you had my prescription in your pocket at the same time! The prescription of a regular physician, of twenty-five years' practice, set aside for a quack nostrum, recommended by a bar-keeper! A fine compliment to common sense and the profession, truly! My friend, if I must speak out plainly, you deserve to die—and I shouldn't much wonder if you got your deserts! Good evening!"
Saying this, the doctor arose, and was moving towards the door, when the frightened patient called to him in such appealing tones, that he was constrained to pause. A humble confession of error, and repeated apologies, softened the physician's suddenly awakened anger, and he came back and resumed his seat.
"My friend," said he, on recovering his self-possession, which had been considerably disturbed, "Do you know the composition of Mrs.—'s cordial, which you took with so much confidence?"
"I do not!" replied the gentleman.
"Humph! Well, I can tell you. About nine-tenths of it is cheap brandy, or New-England rum, which completely destroys or neutralizes the salutary medicaments that form the tithe thereof. I don't wonder that this stuff has aggravated all your symptoms. I would, if in your state of health, about as leave take poison."
"Pray, don't talk to me in that way, doctor," said the patient, imploringly. "I am sick, and what you say can only have the effect to make me worse. I am already sufficiently punished for my folly. Prescribe for me once more, and be assured that I will not again play the fool."
Doctor—'s professional indignation had pretty well burned itself out by this time; so he took up the case again, and once more gave a prescription. In a couple of days, the gentleman was quite well again; but that Mrs.—'s cordial cost him twenty dollars.
He is now a little wiser than he was before; and is very careful as to whose prescriptions he takes. It would be better for the health of the entire community if every individual would be as careful in the same matter as he is now. Those who are sick should, ere taking medicine, consult a physician of experience and skill; but, above all things, they should shun advertised nostrums, in the sale of which the manufacturers and vendors are interested. Often testimonials as to their efficacy are mere forgeries. Health is too vital a thing to be risked in this way.
THE YANKEE AND THE DUTCHMAN;
OR, I'LL GIVE OR TAKE.
A SHREWD Yankee, with about five hundred dollars in his pocket, came along down South, a few years ago, seeking for some better investment of his money than offered in the land of steady habits, where he found people, as a general thing, quite as wide awake as himself.
In Philadelphia, our adventurer did not stay long; but something in the air of Baltimore pleased him, and he lingered about there for several weeks, prying into every thing and getting acquainted with everybody that was accessible. Among others for whom the Yankee seemed to take a liking, was a Dutchman, who was engaged in manufacturing an article for which there was a very good demand, and on which there was a tempting profit. He used to drop in almost every day and have a talk with the Dutchman, who seemed like a good, easy kind of a man, and just the game for the Yankee, if he should think it worth the candle.
"Why don't you enlarge your business?" asked Jonathan, one day. "You can sell five times what you make."
"I knows dat," returned the Dutchman, "but I wants de monish. Wait a while, den I enlarsh."
"Then you are laying by something?"
"Leetle mite."
In two or three days, Jonathan came round again. He had thought the matter all over, and was prepared to invest his five hundred dollars in the Dutchman's business, provided the latter had no objections.
"It's a pity to creep along in the way you are going," he said, "when so much money might be made in your business by the investment of more capital. Can't you borrow a few hundred dollars?"
"Me borrow? Oh, no; nobody lend me few hunnard dollar. I go on, save up; bimeby I enlarsh."
"But somebody else, with plenty of money, might go into the business and fill the market; then it would be no use to enlarge."
"Sorry, but can't help it. No monish, no enlarsh."
"I've got five hundred dollars."
The phlegmatic Dutchman brightened up.
"Fife hunnard dollar?"
"Yes."
"Much monish. Do great business on fife hunnard dollar."
"That you could."
"You lend me de monish?" asked the Dutchman.
Jonathan shook his head.
"Can't do that. I'm going into business myself."
"Ah! what business?"
"Don't know yet; haven't decided. Into your business, maybe."
"My business!" The Dutchman looked surprised.
"Yes; it appears to me like a very good business. Don't you think I could start very fair on five hundred dollars?"
The Dutchman hesitated to answer that question; he didn't want to say yes, and he was conscious that the Yankee knew too much of his affairs to believe him if he said no. He, therefore, merely shrugged his shoulders, looked stupid, and remained silent.
"You don't know of a large room that I could get anywhere, do you?"
The Dutchman shook his head, and gave a decided negative.
Jonathan said no more on that occasion. Two days afterwards, he dropped in again. "Have you fount a room yet?" asked the Dutchman.
"I've seen two or three," replied Jonathan. "One of them will suit me, I guess. But I'll tell you what I've been thinking about since I saw you. If I open another establishment, the business will be divided. Now, it has struck me, that, perhaps, it might be better, all round, for me to put my five hundred dollars into your business as a partner, and push the whole thing with might and main. How does it strike you?"
"Vell, I can't say shust now; I'll dink of him. You put in fife hunnard dollar, you say?"
"Yes; five hundred down, in hard cash—every dollar in gold."
"Fife hunnard. Let us see." And the Dutchman raised his chin and dropped his eyes, and stood for some minutes in a deep study.
"Fife hunnard," he repeated several times.
"Come to-morrow," he at length said. "Den I tell you."
"Very well. I'll drop in to-morrow," replied the Yankee. "I'm not very anxious about it, you see; but, as the thing occurred to me, I thought I would mention it. Five hundred dollars will make a great difference in your business."
On the next day, Jonathan appeared, looking quite indifferent about the matter. The Dutchman had turned over the proposition, and dreamed about it, both sleeping and waking. His final decision was to take in the Yankee as a partner.
Now, a cool, thoughtful Dutchman, and a quick-witted Yankee, are not a very bad match for each other, provided the former sees reason to have his wits about him, which was the case in the present instance. The Dutchman meant all fair; he had no thought of taking any advantage: but he had suspicion enough of Jonathan to put him on his guard, and look to see that no high-handed game was played off upon him.
"You put in fife hunnard dollar?" he said, when the Yankee appeared.
"Yes."
"Hard cash?"
"Yes, in gold."
"Gold!"
"All in half-eagles like these." And he drew a handful of gold coins from his pocket.
"Very well; I dake you. You put in fife hunnard dollar, I put in all I got here; den we joint owner."
"Equal partners?"
"Yes."
"That is, I own half and you half."
"Yes."
"And we divide, equally, the profits?"
"Yes."
"Very well; that'll do, I guess. We'll have writings drawn to this effect—articles of co-partnership, you know."
"Oh, yes."
This settled, nothing remained but to have the articles drawn, the money paid in, and the agreement signed and witnessed; all of which was done in the course of a few weeks. Then Jonathan went into the business, and infused some Yankee spirit: into every part of it; he made things move ahead fast. In less than a year, the business was much more than doubled, and the profits in proportion; thut Jonathan was not satisfied with his half of these—he wanted the whole; and, hedge-hog-like, he did all he could, by merely bristling up, to make things unpleasant for his partner. But the Dutchman was by no means thin-skinned; the sharp spikes of the Yankee's character annoyed him but little. As for himself, he felt very well satisfied with his share of the profits, and willing to go on as they were going.
At the end of the second year, when the establishment had grown into quite an important and profitable concern, the Yankee had a visit from an Eastern friend, a man of some capital.
"That's a stupid-looking fellow, that partner of yours," said this person.
"And he is as stupid as a mule. I have to carry him on my back, and the business, too."
"Why don't you get rid of him?"
"I've been wanting to do so for some time, but haven't seen my way clear yet."
"Does your partnership expire at any time, by limitation?"
"No. It can only be dissolved by mutual consent."
"Won't he sell out his interest?"
"I don't know; but I've always intended to make him an offer to give or take, as soon as I could see my way clear to do it."
"Don't you see your way clear now?"
"No. When such an offer is made, it must be of a sum that it is impossible for him to raise; otherwise, he might agree to give the amount proposed, and I don't want that. I wish to stick to the business, for it's going to be a fortune. At present, I am not able to raise what I think should be offered."
"How much is that?"
"About three thousand dollars. I only put in five hundred, two years ago. You can see how the business has increased. The half is worth five thousand in reality, and I would give, rather than take that sum."
"You think your partner can't raise three thousand dollars?"
"Oh, no; he's got no friends, and he hasn't three hundred out of the business."
"How long would you want the sum mentioned?"
"A year or eighteen months."
"I reckon I can supply it," said the friend. "It's a pity for you to be tied to this old Dutchman, when you can conduct the business just as well yourself."
"A great deal better; he is only in my way."
"Very well. You make him the offer to give or take three thousand dollars, and I will supply the money. But you ought, by all means, to add a stipulation, that whoever goes out shall sign a written agreement not to go into the same business for at least ten years to come. If you don't do this, he can take his three thousand dollars and start another establishment upon as large a scale as the one you have, and seriously affect your operations."
"Such a stipulation must be signed, of course," remarked Jonathan. "I've always had that in my mind; let me once get this business into my hands, and I'll make it pay better than it ever has yet. Before ten years roll over my head, if I a'n't worth forty or fifty thousand dollars, then I don't know any thing."
"You think it will pay like that?"
"Yes, I know it. I haven't put out half my strength yet, for I didn't want to let this Dutchman see what could be made of the business. He'll catch at three thousand dollars like a trout at a fly; it's more money than he ever saw in his life."
On the next day, Jonathan told his partner that he wanted to have some talk with him; so they retired into their little private office, to be alone.
"Vat you want?" said the Dutchman, when they were by themselves; for he saw that his partner had something on his mind of graver import than usual.
"I'm tired of a co-partnership business," said the Yankee, coming straight to the main point.
"Vell?" And the Dutchman looked at him without betraying the least surprise.
"Either of us could conduct this business as well as both together."
"Vell?"
"Now, I propose to buy you out or sell you my interest, as you please."
"Vell?"
"What will you give me for my half of the business, and let me go at something else?" The Dutchman shook his head.
"At a word, then, to make the matter as simple as possible, and as fair as possible, I'll tell you what I'll give or take."
"Vell?"
"Of course, it would not be fair for the one who goes out to commence the same business. I would not do it. There should be a written agreement to this effect."
"Yes. Vell, vat vill you give or dake?"
"I'll give or take three thousand dollars; I don't care which."
"Dree dousand dollar! You give dat?"
"Yes."
"Or take dat?"
"Either."
"You pay down de monish?"
"Cash down."
"Humph! Dree dousand dollar! Me tink about him."
"How long do you want to think?"
"Undil de mornin."
"Very well; we'll settle the matter to-morrow morning."
In the morning, Jonathan's friend came with three thousand dollars, in order to pay the Dutchman right down, and have the whole business concluded while the matter was warm.
Meantime, the Dutchman, who was not quite so friendless nor so stupid as the Yankee supposed, turned the matter over in his mind very coolly. He understood Jonathan's drift as clearly as he understood it himself, and was fully as well satisfied as he was in regard to the future value of the business which he had founded. Two of their largest customers were Germans, and to them he went and made a full statement of his position, and gave them evidence that entirely satisfied them as to the business. Without hesitation, they agreed to advance him the money he wanted, and to enable him to strike while the iron was hot, checked him out the money on the next morning. One of them accompanied him to his manufactory, to be a witness in the transaction.
Jonathan and his friend were first on the spot.
In about ten minutes, the Dutchman and his friend arrived.
"Well, have you made up your mind yet?" asked the Yankee.
"De one who goes out ish not to begin de same business?"
"No, certainly not; it wouldn't be fair."
"No, I 'spose not."
"Suppose we draw up a paper, and sign it to that effect, before we go any farther."
"Vell."
The paper was drawn, signed, and witnessed by the friends of both parties.
"You are prepared to give or take?" said Jonathan, with same eagerness in his manner.
"Yes."
"Well, which will you do?"
"I vill give," coolly replied the Dutchman.
"Give!" echoed the Yankee, taken entirely by surprise at so unexpected a reply. "Give! You mean, take."
"I no means dake, I means give. Here ish de monish;" and he drew forth a large roll of bank-bills. "You say give or dake—I say give."
With the best face it was possible to put upon the matter, Jonathan, who could not back out, took the three thousand dollars, and, for that sum, signed away, on the spot, all right, title, and claim to benefit in the business, from that day henceforth and for ever.
With his three thousand dollars in his pocket, the Yankee started off farther South, vowing that, if he lived to be as old as Methuselah, he'd never have any thing to do with a Dutchman again.