"Four," replied J. Rufus clearly, with not even a twinkle in his eye. "Only four bottles," declaimed Doctor Quagg. "My friends, this is one of my most marvelous cures. When I met this gentleman in Columbus, Ohio, he was a living skeleton, having suffered for years from sciatic rheumatism. He bought from me one night at my carriage, just as he is standing now, six bottles of the Peerless Sciatacata. He took but four bottles, and look at him to-day!" With one accord they looked. There was some slight tittering among them at first, but the dignity and gravity with which the towering J. Rufus, hale and hearty and in the pink of condition, withstood that inspection, checked all inclination to levity. Moreover, he was entirely too prosperous-looking to be a "capper." "I owe you my life, Doctor," said Wallingford gratefully. "I never travel without those other two bottles of the Sciatacata," and with the air of a debt of honor paid, he pressed back through the crowd to the sidewalk. His wife was laughing, yet confused. "I don't see how you can make yourself so conspicuous," she protested in a low voice. "Why not?" he laughed. "We public characters must boost one another." "And the price," they heard the doctor declaiming, "is only one dollar _per_ bottle, or six for five dollars, guar-_an_-teed not only to drive sciatic rheumatism from the sys-_tem_, but to cure the most ob-_stin_-ate cases of ague, Bright's disease, cat-a-lepsy, coughs, colds, cholera, _dys_-pepsia, ery-_sip_-_e_-las, fever _and_ chills, _gas_-tritis"-- "And so on down to X Y Z, etc.," commented Wallingford as they walked away. His wife looked up at him curiously. "Jim, did you honestly take four bottles of that medicine?" she wanted to know. "Take it?" he repeated in amazement. "Certainly not! It isn't meant for wise people to take. It wouldn't do them any good." "It wouldn't do anybody any good," she decided with a trace of contempt. "Guess again," he advised her. "That dope has cured a million people that had nothing the matter with 'em." At the Hotel Deriche in the adjoining block they turned into the huge, garishly decorated dining-room for their after-theater supper. They had been in the town only two days, but the head waiter already knew to come eagerly to meet them, to show them to the best table in the room, and to assign them the best waiter; also the head waiter himself remained to take the order, to suggest a delicate, new dish and to name over, at Wallingford's solicitation, the choice wines in the cellar that were not upon the wine-list. This little formality over, Wallingford looked about him complacently. A pale gentleman with a jet-black beard bowed to him from across the room. "Doctor Lazzier," observed Wallingford to his wife. "Most agreeable chap and has plenty of money."