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Updated: June 18, 2025
It was going to smash Jebusa Jones's Cuticle Remedy to the shreds of its ointment boxes. The deepening vertical line between the man's brows she did not notice, nor did she interpret the wistful look in his eyes when he claimed her help. She was tired of the Cure and the Remedy and Sypher's fantastic need of her as ally. She wanted Life, real, quivering human Life.
But I tell her as I have told my damned fool of a soul that I shall conquer. Would you like to go to her and say, 'I'm done I'm beaten'? Besides, I'm not." He turned and poked the fire, smashing a great lump of coal with a stroke of his muscular arm as if it had been the skull of the Jebusa Jones dragon. Septimus twirled his small mustache and his hand inevitably went to his hair.
"I want to tell you something," said Sypher, standing on the hearthrug with his hands on his hips. "I've just had an offer from the Jebusa Jones Company." Septimus listened intently while he told the story, wondering greatly why he, of all unbusinesslike, unpractical people in spite of his friendship with Sypher should be summoned so urgently to hear it.
It came to him almost as a shock to realize that things were happening in the world round about him quite as heroic, in the eyes of the High Gods, as the battle between Sypher's Cure and Jebusa Jones's Cuticle Remedy. The curtain of life had been lifted, and a flash of its inner mysteries had been revealed. His eyes still were dazed. But he had received the gift of vision.
"I can't believe it," said Zora, half hurt, half resentful. "The woman's eyes were full of tears." "It's true," said her champion. "And the best of it is that the man is actually an accredited agent of Jebusa Jones's Cuticle Remedy." He stood, his hands on his broad hips, regarding her with the piercing eyes of a man who is imparting an incredible but all-important piece of information.
"What has really happened?" Sypher drew a long breath and pulled himself up. "I'm on the verge of a collapse. The Cure hasn't paid for the last two years. I hoped against hope. I flung thousands and thousands into the concern. The Jebusa Jones people and others out-advertised me, out-manoeuvered me at every turn. Now every bit of capital is gone, and I can't raise any more. I must go under."
On the top of her matchmaking and her reflections on Truth in the guise of the Veiled Prophet of Khorasan, came Clem Sypher to take possession of his new house. Since Zora had seen him in Monte Carlo he had been to New York, Chicago, and San Francisco, fighting the Jebusa Jones dragon in its lair. He had written Zora stout dispatches during the campaign. Here a victory. There a defeat.
After all, any protecting grease that keeps the microbes in the air out of the sore place does just as well sometimes better. There's nothing in patent ointment that really cures. Now is there?" "Are you going to the Jebusa Jones people?" asked Sypher. "I have my wife and family," the manager pleaded. "I couldn't refuse. They've offered me the position of their London agent.
"Why the best of it?" asked Zora, puzzled. "It only shows how unscrupulous they are in their business methods. A man like that could persuade a fishmonger or an undertaker to stock it. But he'll do them in the end. They'll suffer for it." "Who will?" "Why, Jebusa Jones, of course. Oh, I see," he continued, looking at the two perplexed faces, "you don't know who I am. I am Clem Sypher."
Then his traveler, who had arranged to meet him by appointment, was shown into the room. They were to lunch together. To ease his foot Sypher put on an evening slipper and hobbled downstairs. The traveler told a depressing tale. Jebusa Jones had got in everywhere and was underselling the Cure. A new German skin remedy had insidiously crept on to the market.
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