“By the way, Doctor,” said Wallingford, watching the pouring of the wine with a host’s anxiety, “I think of going into the patent medicine business on a large scale, and I believe I shall have to have you on the board of directors.”
“Couldn’t think of it!” objected the doctor hastily. “You know, professional ethics—” and he shrugged his shoulders.
“That’s so,” admitted Wallingford. “We can’t have you on the board, but we can have you for a silent stock-holder.”
“Open to the same objection,” declared the doctor, with another dubious shrug, as he took up his glass.
He tasted the wine; he took another sip, then another—slow, careful sips, so that no drop of it should hasten by his palate unappreciated. Wallingford did not disturb him in that operation. He had a large appreciation himself of the good things of this world, and the proper way to do them homage.
The doctor took a larger sip, and allowed the delicate liquid to flow gently over his tongue. Wallingford was really a splendid fellow!
“What sort of patent medicine are you going to manufacture?” asked the doctor by way of courtesy, but still “listening” to the taste of the wine.
Wallingford laughed.
“I haven’t just decided as yet,” he announced. “The medicine is only an incident. What we’re going to invest in is advertising.”
“I see,” replied the doctor, laughing in turn.