Wallingford smiled.
“We simply must stick to the Sciatacata,” resumed Wallingford. “We have all this fine stationery printed, with the full name of the Peerless dope; we have elaborate booklets and circulars about it, and the first delivery of ten thousand labels is here. There will be no trouble in getting up another Peerless Sciatacata which will at least be harmless, but I think that we can do even better than that. I think that Doctor Lazzier can furnish us a good, handy, cheap prescription for sciatic rheumatism.”
“Certainly not,” protested Doctor Lazzier with vast professional indignation; but he nevertheless winked at Wallingford.
“Never mind,” said Wallingford to Corbin; “I’ll get the formula all right.”
“For my part I’m willing to sell my stock at ten per cent.,” said Corbin with infinite disgust. He was thinking at that very moment of a gaudy “function” he was to attend that night, one marking quite an advance in his social climb, and he almost dreaded to go. “I don’t like to lose money, but, in this case, I’d really rather. This is a dreadful experience.”
The rest of them agreed with young Corbin in attitude, if not in words, and it was with considerable sadness that they dispersed, after having decided, somewhat reluctantly, that Wallingford should go ahead with the Sciatacata. Pursuing this plan Wallingford sent away the copy for the bottom half of the great woozy-feeling advertisement.
The following afternoon, however, came the death-blow, in the shape of a most hilarious article in the local papers. In a neighboring city Doctor Quagg had gone out to sell the Peerless Sciatacata, had been caught in a drizzle of spring rain and had been sent, raving angry, to the hospital with a most severe case of sciatic rheumatism. The joke of it was too good. The local papers, as a mere kindly matter of news information, published a list of the stock-holders of the Doctor Quagg Peerless Sciatacata Company.
Wallingford, with that item before him, sat and chuckled till the tears quivered on his eyelashes; but, even in the midst of his appreciation of the fun in the case, he wired to the agent of the advertising company to cancel his previous letter of instructions, and to secure him at least a week’s grace before forfeiture of the contract; then he proceeded quietly to telephone the stock-holders. He found great difficulty in getting the use of his line, however, for the stock-holders were already calling him up, frantically, tearfully, broken-heartedly. They were all ruined through their connection with the Sciatacata!
“I’ll tell you, Fannie,” said he at dinner, after pondering over a new thought which would keep obtruding itself into his mind, “this thing of training a straight business down to weight is no merry quip. It’s more trouble and risk than my favorite game of promoting for revenue only.”
“You keep right on at it, Jim,” she insisted. “You’ll find there is ever so much more satisfaction in it in the end.”