At the Benson House J. Rufus found Doctor Quagg with a leg propped up on a chair, and himself in a state of profound profanity.

“What’s the matter, Doc?” asked Wallingford.

“Sciatic rheumatism!” howled the martyr. “It’s gettin’ worse every year. Every time I go on the street for a night I know I’m goin’ to suffer. That’s why I keep it up so late and spiel myself hoarse in the neck. I jumped into town just yesterday and got a reader from these city hall pirates. They charged me twenty-five iron men for my license for the week. I go out and make one pitch, and that’s all I get for my twenty-five.”

“Sciatic rheumatism’s a tough dose,” commiserated Wallingford. “Why don’t you take five or six bottles of the Peerless Sciatacata?”

The answer to this was a storm of fervid expletives which needed no diagram. Wallingford, [Pg 319]chuckling, sat down and gloated over the doctor’s misery, lighting a big, fat cigar to gloat at better ease. He offered a cigar to Quagg.

“I daresn’t smoke,” swore that invalid.

“And I suppose you daresn’t drink, either,” observed Wallingford. “Well, that doesn’t stop me, you know.”

Wearily the doctor indicated a push-button.

“You’ll have to ring for a boy yourself,” said he.

When the boy came Wallingford ordered a highball.

“And what’s yours, sir?” asked the boy, turning to the doctor.

“Lithia, you bullet-headed nigger!” roared the doctor with a twinge of pain in his leg. “That’s twice to-day I’ve had to tell you I can’t drink anything but lithia. Get out!”

The boy “got,” grinning.

“Seriously, though, old man,” said Wallingford, judging that the doctor had been aggravated long enough, “your condition must be very bad for business, and I’ve come to make you a proposition to go into the manufacture of the Peerless on a large scale.”

[Pg 320]

The doctor sat in silence for a moment, shaking his head despondently.

“You can’t get spielers,” he declared. “I’ve tried it. Once I made up a lot of the Sciatacata and sent out three men; picked the best I could find that had made good with street-corner pitches in other lines, and their sales weren’t half what mine would be; moreover, they got drunk on the job, didn’t pay for their goods, and were a nuisance any way you took ’em.”

Wallingford laughed.

“I didn’t mean that we should manufacture the priceless remedy for street fakers to handle,” he explained. “I propose to start a big factory to supply drug-stores through the jobbing trade, to spend a hundred thousand dollars in advertising right off the bat, give you stock in the company for the use of your formula, and a big salary to superintend the manufacture. That will do away with your exposure to the night air, stop the increase of your sciatica, and make you more money. Why, Doc, just to begin with we’ll give you ten thousand dollars’ worth of stock.”

It took Doctor Quagg some time to recover from the shock of that much money.

[Pg 321]

“I’ve heard of such things,” said he gratefully, “but I never supposed it could happen to me.”

“You don’t need to put up a cent,” went on Wallingford. “And I don’t need to put up a cent. We’ll use other people’s money.”

“Where are you going to get your share?” asked the doctor suspiciously. “Are you going to have a salary, too?”

“No,” said Wallingford. “We’ll pay you thirty-five dollars to start with as superintendent of the manufacturing department, but I won’t ask for a salary; I’ll take a royalty of one cent a bottle as manager of the company. I’ll take five thousand dollars’ worth of stock for my services in promotion, and then for selling the stock I’ll take twenty-five per cent. of the par value for all I place, but will take it out in stock at the market rate. We’ll organize for half a million and begin selling stock at fifty cents on the dollar, and I’ll guarantee to raise for us one hundred and twenty-five thousand net cash—twenty-five thousand for manufacturing and one hundred thousand for advertising.”

The doctor drew a long breath.

“If you can do that you’re a wonder,” he declared; “but it don’t seem to me you’re taking [Pg 322]enough for yourself. You’re giving me ten thousand dollars and you’re only taking five; you’re giving me thirty-five dollars a week and you’re only taking a cent a bottle. It seems to me the job of organizing and building up such a company is worth as much as the Sciatacata.”

“Don’t you worry about me,” protested J. Rufus modestly. “I’ll get along all right. I’m satisfied. We’ll organize the company to-day.”

“You can’t get all that money together in a day!” exclaimed the doctor in amazement.

“Oh, no; I don’t expect to try it. I’ll put up all the money necessary. We want five directors, and we have three of them now, you and my wife and I. Do you know anybody around the hotel that would serve?”

The doctor snorted contemptuously.

“Nobody that’s got any money or responsibility,” he asserted.

“They don’t need to have any money, and we don’t want them to have any responsibility,” protested Wallingford. “Anybody of voting age will do for us just now.”

“Well,” said the doctor reflectively, “the night clerk’s a pretty good fellow, and the head dining-room [Pg 323]girl here has always been mighty nice to me. She’s some relation to the proprietor and she’s been here for five years.”

“Good,” said Wallingford. “I’ll telephone out for a lawyer.”

There was no telephone in the room, but down-stairs Wallingford found a pay ’phone and selected a lawyer at random from the telephone directory. Within two hours Wallingford and his wife, Doctor Quagg, Albert Blesser and Carrie Schwam had gravely applied for a charter of incorporation under the laws of the state, for The Doctor Quagg Peerless Sciatacata Company, with a capital stock of one thousand dollars, fully paid in. As he signed his name the doctor laughed like a school-boy.

“Now,” said he, “I’m going to get my hair cut.”

Wallingford stopped him in positive fright.

“Don’t you dare do it!” he protested.

“Is that hair necessary to the business?” asked the doctor, crestfallen.

“Absolutely,” declared Wallingford. “Why, man, that back curtain of yours is ten per cent. dividends.”

“Then I’ll wear it,” agreed the doctor resignedly; “but I hate to. You know I’ve honed for years [Pg 324]to quit this batting around the country, and just ached to wear short hair and a derby hat like a white man.”

Wallingford looked at the weather-bronzed face and shook his head.

“What a pity that would be!” he declared. “However, Doc, your wanderings cease from this minute, and your salary begins from to-day.”

“Fine,” breathed the doctor. “I say, Wallingford, then suppose you order me about three gross of bottles and some fresh labels. I’ll ge............