circulars and advertising cards, into pasteboard boxes. At the far end
of this room a pungent, high-spiced scent, as of a pickle-kitchen with a
fortified odor underlying it, greeted the unaccustomed nose of the
neophyte.

"Good!" he sniffed. "How clean and appetizing it smells!"

Enthusiasm warmed the big man's voice once more.

"Just what it is, too!" he exclaimed. "Now you've hit on the second big
point in Certina's success. It's easy to take. What's the worst thing
about doctors' doses? They're nasty. The very thought of 'em would gag a
cat. Tell people that here's a remedy better than the old medicine and
pleasant to the taste, and they'll take to it like ducks to water.
Certina is the first proprietary that ever tasted good. Next to Old
Lame-Boy, it's my biggest idea."

"Are we going into the mixing-room?" asked his son.

"If you like. But you'll see less than you smell."

So it proved. A heavy, wet, rich vapor shrouded the space about a huge
cauldron, from which came a sound of steady plashing. Presently an
attendant gnome, stripped to the waist, appeared, nodded to Dr.
Surtaine, called to some one back in the mist, and shortly brought Hal a
small glass brimming with a pale-brown liquid.

"Just fresh," he said. "Try it."

"My kidneys are all right," protested Hal. "I don't need any medicine."