"Take it for a bracer. It won't hurt you," urged the gnome.

Hal looked at his father, and, at his nod, put his lips to the glass.

"Why, it tastes like spiced whiskey!" he cried.

"Not so far out of the way. Columbian spirits, caramel, cinnamon and
cardamom, and a touch of the buchu. Good for the blues. Finish it."

Hal did so and was aware of an almost instantaneous glow.

"Strong stuff, sir," he said to his father as they emerged into a
clearer atmosphere.

"They like it strong," replied the other curtly. "I give 'em what they
like."

The attendant gnome followed. "Mr. Dixon was looking for you, Dr.
Surtaine. Here he comes, now."

"Dixon's our chief chemist," explained Dr. Surtaine as a shabby,
anxious-looking man ambled forward.

"We're having trouble with that last lot of cascara, sir," said he
lugubriously.

"In the Number Four?"

"Yes, sir. It don't seem to have any strength."