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Prising Effect

Prising Effect image
Parent Issue
Day
16
Month
January
Year
1903
Copyright
Public Domain
OCR Text

PRISING EFFECT.

In Trying to Purify His Blood In One Night He Took an Overdose of the Medicine and Made the Evening Hilarious.

{Copyright, 1902, by C. B. Lewis}

Mr. Bowser was smoking the last of his cigar the other evening when the doorbell rang and the girl said that a man wanted to see him at the door. He stepped outside and held what seemed to be a private conference for about ten minutes, and when he returned he had a two quart jug in his hand.

"It was our butcher," he explained as Mrs. Bowser looked at him in a questioning way.

"And he brought you that jug?"

"Yes. I was telling him a few days ago that I needed an old fashioned blood cure, and he volunteered to make up one. He knew just where to get the roots and barks, you see."

"And so you've finally got around to a blood cure!" sighed Mrs. Bowser. "Will this be the end of it for a month or two, or will you try a dandruff eradicator, a liver invigorator or a hay fever douche before you quit?"

"Are you finding fault because my blood is out of order and I want to cure it?" demanded Mr. Bowser. "That would be just like you."

"I hadn't seen any signs of your blood being out of order."

"Oh, you hadn't! I've had a pimple as big as a hickory nut on my nose for the last two weeks, and yet you haven't noticed it! Others have, however. I've been almost ashamed to ride on the cars, and I've had boys call me Old Pimple. My Blood has been off for weeks and weeks, and it's a wonder I haven't had pimples by the hundred. It's no wonder I have nightmare and toss about it as I do."

"And the butcher has kindly fixed you up a cure?"

"He has. Have you any objections?"

"Not the slightest. Go ahead and take your dose and get rid of your pimple."

Mr. Bowser looked at her for a minute in an undecided way and then set his jaw and carried the jug down to the dining room. The main ingredients of the cure were sassafras and dandelion, and the butcher had told him to drink half a tumblerful three times a day. The stuff smelled good and tasted better, and after one glass Mr. Bowser decided to push things. There was no use in fooling around with that pimple for a week or two when it could be cured in one night. He took a second glass and put the jug away, but almost immediately brought it out again to imbibe a third. He had a good thing and he meant to push it. The third glass settled the fate of that pimple for all time to come. He went upstairs and sat down to his newspaper and Mrs. Bowser had no remarks to make. Ten or twelve minutes had passed when the family cat came out from under the piano and strolled about the room, and after looking at her and rubbing his eyes Mr. Bowser said:

"Mrs. Bowser, have you turned this house into a cat hospital?"

"What do you mean?" she queried.

"Why, there are three old cats walking about the room."

"You don't mean to say you see three cats?"

"Three cats, Mrs. Bowser, three blamed old tomcats, and I won't have it. I'll knock every one of 'em in the head!"

"He winked and blinked, and, lo, two of the cats vanished!

"I was just joking," he said in a silly way--"just having a little fun, you know. Of course there's only the one cat, and she's the dearest old thing in the world. Mrs. Bowser, next to you I love that cat more'n anything else on earth. If she should die, I'd want to die too!"

"How much of that blood cure did you take?" asked Mrs. Bowser as she look hard at him.

"Just a sip, my dear. But it's doing me lots of good already. I think it's time to take another sip. You and the cat stay right here until I take another dose. Funny about those three old cats--ha, ha, ha! Thought it was the cat hospital you know."

Mrs. Bowser did not seek to restrain him, but when he had gone downstairs she went up to her room. He didn't intend to take but one dose of that blood cure, and that a small one, but the liquid tickled his palate and had such a soothing effect on his pimple that the small dose became two large and liberal ones.

"Nothinbg like it for the blood--nothing like it," he mused as he smacked his lips and reluctantly set the jug away. "Butchers know what is good for pimples on the nose. If I hadn't happened to speak to our butcher, I might have had forty pimples by Saturday. Funny about those old cats. Can't fool me again, though.

As he went upstairs he looked for Mrs. Bowser, and, not seeing her, he sat down heavily in a chair and glanced around for the cat. She had shifted over on the lounge and was purring away with eyes half closed.

"Yesh, er bes' cat in er world," said Mr. Bowser after gazing at her for awhile. "If anybody ever hits you with a bottle, you come to me about it. Anybody who hits my cat hits me. Shay, now, what's your name? I used to know it, but it's gone out of my head. Is it Napoleon?"

The cat opened her eyes and ceased to pur, and after some trouble Mr. Bowser got his eyes on her again and said:

"If it ain't Napoleon, then it's Shakespeare or Cicero or Caesar, but it's all right--all right. Best cat in er world and best name in er world. If I want to take medicine for my blood, you don't say nozzings 'bout it. Shay, Napoleon, let's be happy while we may. Let's swing our hats and whoop and ha, ha, ha! You good feller. I'm good feller, and Mrs. Bowsher good feller. Whoop! Whoopee!"

The blood cure was having its due effect, and as Mrs. Bowser listened over the banister she heard Mr. Bowser trying to work up a jig with his feet. After a few shuffles he suddenly stopped to call out:

"By er great horn spoon, but them old cats have come back--six, seven, eight, nine of 'em! Nine cats in a row, and all looking at me! Funniest thing I ever saw--ha, ha, ha! If Mrs. Bowser was down here, she'd go into hysterics. I don't want no cat hospital around here, but I won't be mean about it. All er cats may stay all night, and I'll give 'em all er milk they want to drink. Whoopee! I'm feeling great, I am. Now, you cats strike up a tune and shee me waltz to it."

Mr. Bowser rose up and wabbled about and finally staggered over and fell upon the lounge. The cat escaped crushing by a jump and at once ran downstairs, but Mr. Bowser never missed him and presently went on:

"Yesh, I'll show you nine old cats how to waltz after ragtime. I'll take this chair for my partner and we'll move off--so--and, Johnny, get your gun out--gun out--gun out!"

Mrs. Bowser felt the house shaking as he danced about, and she was prepared for the crash that soon came. Mr. Bowser fell over the chair, and the chair turned about and fell over him, and when she got downstairs they were tangled up together and going to sleep.

"What kind of carrying on do you call this?" she asked as she stood over the wreck.

Mr. Bowser opened one eye and looked at her in a sleepy way, and then closed it and said:

"Nine old cats, g'way from me! I want er go to shleep. Purifies er blood and takes er pimples off, and zhere is nozzings like it. Whoop! Whoo"--

And then he slept and snored.

M. QUAD.

HE HAD A GOOD THING, AND H E MEANT TO PUSH IT.

"WHOOPEE! I'M FEELING GREAT, I AM."