"I know this, that never did a right confidence come to naught. But time is short; you hold your cure, to retain or reject."
"I retain," with a clinch, "and now how much?"
"As much as you can evoke from your heart and heaven."
"How?—the price of this medicine?"
"I thought it was confidence you meant; how much confidence you should have. The medicine,—that is half a dollar a vial. Your box holds six."
The money was paid.
"Now, sir," said the herb-doctor, "my business calls me away, and it may so be that I shall never see you again; if then—"
He paused, for the sick man's countenance fell blank.
"Forgive me," cried the other, "forgive that imprudent phrase 'never see you again.' Though I solely intended it with reference to myself, yet I had forgotten what your sensitiveness might be. I repeat, then, that it may be that we shall not soon have a second interview, so that hereafter, should another of my boxes be needed, you may not be able to replace it except by purchase at the shops; and, in so doing, you may run more or less risk of taking some not salutary mixture. For such is the popularity of the Omni-Balsamic Reinvigorator—thriving not by the credulity of the simple, but the trust of the wise—that certain contrivers have not been idle, though I would not, indeed, hastily affirm of them that they are aware of the sad consequences to the public. Homicides and murderers, some call those con-
