Mr. Payson repeated the communication in a dispirited tone.
"Bad as that, is it?" said Masterson. "One foot in the grave, so to speak. Well, I tell you what I'll do. I'm interested in your case, for if I can go to work and cure you it'll be more or less of a feather in my cap. See here; I won't charge you but fifty dollars a week till you're cured, and if you ain't a well man in thirty days, I'll hand your money back. That's a fair business proposition, ain't it? I guarantee to put all my time on your case."
Mr. Payson gratefully accepted the terms. A meeting for a treatment was appointed for the next day.
This time Doctor Masterson was prepared for his victim.
Doctor Masterson was prepared for his victim
"I've been in direct communication with Hasandoka," he said, "and I'm posted on your case now, and have full directions what to do. The first thing is a good course of massage. Now, which would you prefer to have, a man or a woman? I got a girl I sometimes employ who's pretty slick at massage. She's good and strong and willing and as pretty as a peach, if I do say it—she's got a figger like a waxwork—I think p'raps Flora would help you more'n any one—"
Mr. Payson shook his head coldly, saying that he preferred a man.
"Oh, o' course," Doctor Masterson said apologetically, shrugging his shoulders, "if you don't want her I guess I better go to work and do the rubbing myself, if you'd be better satisfied."
The Indian herb prescribed by Hasandoka was, it appeared, a rare, secret and expensive drug. The doctor's price was ten dollars a bottle, in addition to his weekly charge for treatment. He presented Mr. Payson with a bottle of dark brown fluid of abominable odor.