“Never heard of Oom Hi,” cried the Ape. “Why, I am the inventor of Broncho.”
“What’s that?” I asked. “Good gracious! what ignorance,” said the Ape; “here, go and fetch my bag,” he whispered to the Kangaroo, who ran back to the rickshaw and returned with the carpet bag.
“This,” continued Oom Hi, taking out a bottle, “is the article; it is called ‘Broncho,’ and is excellent for coughs, colds, and affections of the throat; you will notice that each bottle bears a label stating that the mixture is prepared according to my own formula, and bears my signature; none other is genuine without it. The Wallypug, when he returned from England and heard that I had invented it, declared that I must be a literary genius.”
“There,” continued Oom Hi, taking out the bottle, “is the article; it is called ‘Broncho.’”—[Page 24].
Wallypugland.
“A what!” I exclaimed.
“A literary genius,” repeated the Ape, smirking complacently.
“Why, what on earth has cough mixture to do with literature?” I inquired.