“Great idea! O-no-to-what-you-may-call-it water. Big jug full. Jug too blamed big. Yes? Freight too much. Yes? Listen--'Perkins Pays the Freight!'” He sat down suddenly, and beamed upon me joyfully. The advertising possibilities of the thing impressed me immediately. Who could resist the temptation of getting such a monstrous package of glassware by freight free of charge? I saw the effect of a life-size reproduction of the bottle on the bill-boards with “Perkins Pays the Freight” beneath it in red, and the long name in a semicircle of yellow letters above it. I saw it reduced in the magazine pages, in street-cars--everywhere. “Great?” queried Perkins. “Yes,” I admitted thoughtfully, “it is great.” He was at my side in an instant. “Wonderful effect of difficulty overcome on the human mind!” he bubbled. “Take a precipice. People look over, shudder, turn away. Put in a shoot-the-chutes. People fight to get the next turn to slide down. Same idea. People don't want O-no-to-thing-um-bob water. Hold on, 'Perkins pays the freight!' All right, send us a demijohn!” I saw that Perkins was, as usual, right. “Very well,” I said, “what do you want me to do about it?” Perkins wanted a year of my time, and all the money I could spare. He mentioned twenty thousand dollars as a little beginning--a sort of starter, as he put it. I had faith in Perkins, but twenty thousand was a large sum to put into a thing on the strength of a name and a phrase. I settled myself in my chair, and Perkins put his feet up on my desk. He always could talk better when his feet were tilted up. Perhaps it sent a greater flow of blood to his brain. “Now about the water?” I asked comfortably. “Vile!” cackled Perkins, gleefully. “Perfectly vile! It is the worst you ever tasted. You know the sulphur-spring taste? Sort of bad-egg aroma? Well, this O-no-to-so-forth water is worse than the worst. It's a bonanza! Say! It's sulphur water with a touch of garlic.” He reached into his pocket, and brought out a flask. The water it contained was as clear and sparkling as crystal. He removed the cork, and handed the flask to me. I sniffed at it, and hastily replaced the cork. Perkins grinned with pleasure. “Fierce, isn't it?” he asked. “Smells as if it ought to cure, don't it? Got the real old style matery-medica-'pothecary-shop aroma. None of your little-pill, sugar-coated business about O-no-to-cetera water. Not for a minute! It's the good old quinine, ipecac, calomel, know-when-you're-taking-dose sort. Why, say! Any man that takes a dose of that water has got to feel better. He deserves to feel better.” I sniffed at the flask again, and resolutely returned it to Perkins. “Yes,” I admitted, “it has the full legal allowance of smell. There's no doubt about it being a medicinal water. Nobody would mistake it for a table water, Perkins. A child would know it wasn't meant for perfume; but what is it good for? What will it cure?”