“Read on,” said she.
“‘It costs money to make the Kurepain,’” Jim read, aloud. “‘It is not a sugar-and-water remedy. It is a cure, manufactured at great expense. Good medicines come high. But the peerless Kurepain is cheap when compared with the worthless substitutes now on the market and sold for just as good. Our price is five dollars a bottle; three bottles guaranteed to cure.’”
Jim Grimm stopped dead. He looked up. His wife steadily returned his glance. The Labrador dweller is a poor man––a very poor man. 38 Rarely does a dollar of hard cash slip into his hand. And this was hard cash. Five dollars a bottle! Five dollars for that which was neither food nor clothing!
“’Tis fearful!” he sighed.
“But read on,” said she.
“‘In order to introduce the Kurepain into this locality, we have set aside one thousand bottles of this incomparable medicine. That number, and no more, we will dispose of at four dollars a bottle. Do not make a mistake. When the supply is exhausted, the price will rise to eight dollars a bottle, owing to a scarcity of one of the ingredients. We honestly advise you, if you are in pain or suffering, to take advantage of this rare opportunity. A word to the wise is sufficient. Order to-day.’”
“’Tis a great bargain, Jim,” the mother whispered.
“Ay,” Jim answered, dubiously.
His wife patted his hand. “When Jimmie’s cured,” she went on, “he could help you with the traps, an’–––”
“’Tis not for that I wants un cured,” Jim Grimm flashed. “I’m willin’ an’ able for me labour. ’Tis not for that. I’m just thinkin’ all 39 the time about seein’ him run about like he used to. That’s what I wants.”