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Donnez-moi un bock," he said impatiently, obsessed by his new idea. "Tell me, Monsieur Cruchot, you who have used the Cure Sypher. It is well known in the French army is it not? You had it served out from the regimental medical stores?" "Ah, no, Monsieur. It is my mother who rubbed it on my heels." Sypher's face expressed disappointment, but he cheered up again immediately. "Never mind.
It's as bad as walking through the streets with 'Sypher's Cure' painted on your hat." "What can I do about it?" he asked. "Take it down at once," said Zora. "But to exhibit the board was my sole reason for buying the place." "I'm very sorry," she said gently, "but I can't change my opinion." He cast a lingering glance at the board, and then turned. "Let us go back to the house," he said.
My wife and I will play the game for you. She's an amusing body. Heaven knows how I should have got through without her. She also swears by Sypher's Cure." So they became friends. Sypher, since the blistered heel episode, had lost his fearless way of trumpeting the Cure far and wide, having a nervous dread of seeing the p and q of the hateful words form themselves on the lips of a companion.
There, without taking off her hat or furs, she wrote a swift, long letter to Clem Sypher, and summoning the waiter, ordered him to post it at once. When he had gone she reflected for a few moments and sent off a telegram. After a further brief period of reflection she went down-stairs and rang up Sypher's office on the telephone.
The Mediterranean met the horizon in a blue so intense that the soul ached to see it. The heart of spring throbbed in the deep bosom of summer. The air as they sped through it was like cool spiced wine. Zora listened to Clem Sypher's dithyrambics. The wine of the air had got into his head. He spoke as she had heard no man speak before.
Its power of massacre was unparalleled in the history of wholesale slaughter. A child might work it. Septimus's explanation was too lucid for a man of Sypher's intelligence not to grasp the essentials of his invention. To all his questions Septimus returned satisfactory answers. He could find no flaw in the gun.
Emmy's curiosity was excited. She sat on the fender seat and bent forward, her hands on her knees, in a pretty girlish attitude and fixed her forget-me-not eyes on him. "Tell me all about it." He obeyed and expounded Sypher's quixotism in his roundabout fashion. He concluded by showing her how it had been done for Zora's sake. Emmy made a little gesture of impatience.
"They only gave me your room number." "I am Clem Sypher, the proprietor of Sypher's Cure." The two men stared at one another, Sypher in a blue-striped pyjama jacket, supporting himself by one elbow on the bed, the doctor at the foot. The doctor spread out his hands. "It's the most horrible moment of my life. I am at your mercy. I only gave you my honest opinion, the result of my experience.
He laughed aloud, proclaimed his love for Zora, shook his somewhat bewildered friend by the hand, and informed him that he, Septimus, alone of mortals, was responsible for the great decision. And while Septimus wondered what the deuce he meant, he rang the bell and summoned Shuttleworth. The dismal manager entered the room. On seeing Sypher's cheery face, his own brightened.
Sypher, because I'm so grateful to you for saving us from these swindling people." When Zora smiled into a man's eyes, she was irresistible. Sypher's pink face relaxed. "Never mind," he said. "I'll send you all the advertisements I can lay my hands on in the morning. Au revoir." He raised his hat and went away. Zora laughed across the table. "What an extraordinary person!"
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