"Phony!" he said curtly, and flipped it far into the darkness. "Don't
any more of you try it on," he warned, as the thwarted profferer of the
counterfeit sidled away, and there was, in his tone, a dominant
ferocity.

Presently the line of purchasers thinned out. The Vitalizing Mixture had
exhausted its market. But only part of the crowd had contributed to the
levy. Mainly it was the men, whom the "spiel" had lured. Now for the
women. The voice, the organ of a genuine artist, took on a new cadence,
limpid and tender.

"And now, we come to the sufferings of those who bear pain with the
fortitude of the angels. Our women-folk! How many here are hiding that
dreadful malady, cancer? Hiding it, when help and cure are at their beck
and call. Lady," he bent swiftly to the slattern under the torch and his
accents were a healing effluence, "with my soothing, balmy oils, you can
cure yourself in three weeks, or your money back."

"I do' know haow you knew," faltered the woman. "I ain't told no one
yet. Kinder hoped it wa'n't thet, after all."

He brooded over her compassionately. "You've suffered needlessly. Soon
it would have been too late. The Vitalizing Mixture will keep up your
strength, while the soothing, balmy oils drive out the poison, and heal
up the sore. Three and a half for the two. Thank you. And is there some
suffering friend who you can lead to the light?"

The woman hesitated. She moved out to the edge of the crowd, and spoke
earnestly to a younger woman, whose comely face was scarred with the
chiseling of sleeplessness.