“Sure? Of course I am! Didn’t I tell him so when I showed him the clay? I told him where it came from, and he said all the good he could see in it was for filling. Now he goes and helps these fellows made a medicine of it. He’s double-crossed us, I tell you!”
“It does look so,” admitted Bob, who was rather more likely than Ned to agree with the more positive speaker—in this case Jerry Hopkins.
“My, what’s all the excitement about?” asked Mrs. Hopkins, coming into the room at this juncture. “Has something gone wrong with your plans?”
For a moment no one spoke, and then Jerry said:
“Something has gone wrong, Mother, but not exactly with our plans. Look here,” and he showed her the advertisement. She read it through without remark. Over her shoulder Jerry saw some statements that had escaped him at first.
These were to the effect that several cures of stubborn ailments had been effected by the yellow clay, and the medicines with which it was impregnated. The clay was of medicinal value in itself, it was claimed, but it was rendered more efficacious by the introduction of other chemicals.
Rheumatism, swellings, pains, aches and ailments of various sorts yielded to its application, and the names of well-known medical men bore out the claims of the Universal Plaster Company.
“And to think that the most of that clay was on your land, Mother, and you have sold it!” cried Jerry, when she looked up from the paper.
“Well, it can’t be helped now, Jerry,” she answered, quietly. “What’s done is done.”