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Updated: May 25, 2025
"I am Clem Sypher Friend of Humanity Sypher's Cure. Now do you know?" "I'm afraid I'm shockingly ignorant," said Zora. "So am I," said Septimus. "Good heavens!" cried Sypher, bringing both hands down on the table, tragically. "Don't you ever read your advertisements?" "I'm afraid not," said Zora. "No," said Septimus.
As a man of the world, however, he used his knowledge with discretion, and as an artist in anecdote he selected fastidiously. He seldom retailed a bit of gossip for its own sake; when he did so he had a purpose. One evening they dined together at Sypher's club, a great semi-political institution with many thousand members.
It was from the London office of the Cure, and contained the information that one of his largest buyers had reduced his usual order by half. The news was depressing. So was the prospect before him, of dripping trees and of evergreens on the lawn trying to make the best of it in forlorn bravery. Heaven had ordained that the earth should be fair and Sypher's Cure invincible.
She swears to you that the digger is a clod of earth and the painter a handful of heaven. She is talking rot. You know it. Yet you believe her." Sypher was not convinced by the airy paradoxician. He had a childish idea that painters and novelists and actors were superior beings. Rattenden found this Arcadian and cultivated Sypher's society. They took long walks together on Sunday afternoons.
The glow of inspiration in Sypher's blue eyes and the triumph written on his resolute face brought the features of the worried traveler for the first time into an expression of normal satisfaction with the world. "I will stagger you to your commercial depths, my boy," Sypher continued. "Have a drink first before I tell you." He raised his champagne glass. "To Sypher's Cure!"
Almost every man, woman, and child in the vicinity of Pleasant River was on the way to the circus, Boomer's Grand Six-in-One Universal Consolidated Show; Brilliant Constellations of Fixed Stars shining in the same Vast Firmament; Glittering Galaxies of World-Famous Equestrian Artists; the biggest elephants, the funniest clowns, the pluckiest riders, the stubbornest mules, the most amazing acrobats, the tallest man and the shortest man, the thinnest woman and the thickest woman, on the habitable globe; and no connection with any other show on earth, especially Sypher's Two-in-One Show now devastating the same State.
The very last letter she had received from Sypher had been full of the lust of battle. Septimus nodded gloomily. "It was only a silly patent ointment like a hundred others, but it was Sypher's religion. Now his gods have gone, and he's lost. It's not good for a man to have no gods. I didn't have any once, and the devils came in. They drove me to try haschisch.
He took a sample box of Sypher's Cure from his handbag, and, almost with reverence, anointed his heel. Clem Sypher slept the sleep of the warrior preparing for battle. When he awoke at Lyons he had all the sensations of a wounded Achilles.
What happens in this Sleepy Hollow of a place that a live woman can concern herself with?" "There's Sypher's Cure " "My dear Mr. Sypher!" she laughed protestingly. "Oh," said he, "you are helping it on more than you imagine. I'm going through a rough time, but with you behind me, as I told you before, I know I shall win.
She laughed to herself at Sypher's fantastic claim. To give up the great things of the world, Life itself, for the sake of a quack ointment! It was preposterous. Sypher was as crazy as Septimus; perhaps crazier, for the latter did not thump his chest and inform her that his guns or his patent convertible bed-razor-strop had need of her "here."
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