Shuttleworth thanked him for the compliment.
"One learns by experience," said he modestly. "I was born and bred in the patent-medicine business. It's very risky. You start a thing. It catches on for a while. Then something else more attractive comes on the market. There's a war of advertising, and the bigger capital wins. The wise man gets out of it just before the rival comes. If you had taken my advice five years ago, and turned it into a company, you'd have been a rich man now, without a care in the world. Next time you will."
"There'll be no next time," said Sypher gravely.
"Why not? There's always money in patent medicines. For instance, in a new cure for obesity if properly worked. A man like you can always get the money together."
"And the cure for obesity?"
Shuttleworth's dismal face contracted into the grimace which passed with him for a smile.
"Any old thing will do, so long as it doesn't poison people."
Uncomfortable under his chief's silent scrutiny, he took off his spectacles, breathed on them, and wiped them with his handkerchief.
"The public will buy anything, if you advertise it enough."
"I suppose they will," said Sypher. "Even Jebusa Jones's Cuticle Remedy."