_In Which Little Jimmie Grimm Goes Lame and His Mother
Discovers the Whereabouts of a Cure_
Little Jimmie Grimm was then ten years old. He had been an active,
merry lad, before the night of the assault of Tog and the two
wolves--inclined to scamper and shout, given to pranks of a kindly
sort. His affectionate, light-hearted disposition had made him the
light of his mother's eyes, and of his father's, too, for, child
though he was, lonely Jim Grimm found him a comforting companion. But
he was now taken with what the folk of Buccaneer Cove called
"rheumatiz o' the knee." There were days when he walked in comfort;
but there were also times when he fell to the ground in a sudden agony
and had to be carried home. There were weeks when he could not walk at
all. He was not now so merry as he had been. He was more affectionate;
but his eyes did not flash in the old way, nor were his cheeks so fat
and rosy. Jim Grimm and the lad's mother greatly desired to have him
cured.
"'Twould be like old times," Jim Grimm said once, when Jimmie was put
to bed, "if Jimmie was only well."
"I'm afeared," the mother sighed, "that he'll never be well again."
"For fear you're right, mum," said Jim Grimm, "we must make him happy
every hour he's with us. Hush, mother! Don't cry, or I'll be cryin',
too!"
Nobody connected Jimmie Grimm's affliction with the savage teeth of
Tog.
* * * * *
It was Jimmie's mother who discovered the whereabouts of a cure.
Hook's Kurepain was the thing to do it! Who could deny the virtues of
that "healing balm"? They were set forth in print, in type both large
and small, on a creased and dirty remnant of the _Montreal Weekly
Globe and Family Messenger_, which had providentially strayed into
that far port of the Labrador. Who could dispute the works of "the
invaluable discovery"? Was it not a positive cure for bruises,
sprains, chilblains, cracked hands, stiffness of the joints,
contraction of the muscles, numbness of the limbs, neuralgia,
rheumatism, pains in the chest, warts, frost bites, sore throat,
quinsy, croup, and various other ills? Was it not an excellent hair
restorer, as well? If it had cured millions (and apparently it had),
why shouldn't it cure little Jimmie Grimm? So Jimmie's mother longed
with her whole heart for a bottle of the "boon to suffering
humanity."
"I've found something, Jim Grimm," said she, a teasing twinkle in her
eye, when, that night, Jimmie's father came in from the snowy
wilderness, where he had made the round of his fox traps.
"Have you, now?" he asked, curiously. "What is it?"
"'Tis something," said she, "t' make you glad."
"Come, tell me!" he cried, his eyes shining.
"I've heard you say," she went on, smiling softly, "that you'd be
willin' t' give anything t' find it. I've heard you say that----"
"'Tis a silver fox!"
"I've heard you say," she continued, shaking her head, "'Oh,' I've
heard you say, 'if I could _only_ find it I'd be happy.'"
"Tell me!" he coaxed. "Please tell me!"
She laid a hand on his shoulder. The remnant of the _Montreal Weekly
Globe and Family Messenger_ she held behind her.
"'Tis a cure for Jimmie," said she.
"No!" he cried, incredulous; but there was yet the ring of hope in his
voice. "Have you, now?"
"Hook's Kurepain," said she, "never failed yet."
"'Tis wonderful!" said Jim Grimm.
She spread the newspaper on the table and placed her finger at that
point of the list where the cure of rheumatism was promised.
"Read that," said she, "an' you'll find 'tis all true."
Jim Grimm's eye ran up to the top of the page. His wife waited, a
smile on her lips. She was anticipating a profound impression.
"'Beauty has wonderful charms,'" Jim Grimm read. "'Few men can
withstand the witchcraft of a lovely face. All hearts are won----'"
"No, no!" the mother interrupted, hastily. "That's the marvellous
Oriental Beautifier. I been readin' that, too. But 'tis not that. 'Tis
lower down. Beginnin', 'At last the universal remedy of Biblical
times.' Is you got it yet?"
"Ay, sure!"
And thereupon Jim Grimm of Buccaneer Cove discovered that a legion of
relieved and rejuvenated rheumatics had without remuneration or
constraint sung the virtues of the Kurepain and the praises of Hook.
Poor ignorant Jim Grimm did not for a moment doubt the existence of
the Well-Known Traveller, the Family Doctor, the Minister of the
Gospel, the Champion of the World. He was ready to admit that the cure
had been found.
"I'm willin' t' believe," said he, solemnly, the while gazing very
earnestly into his wife's eyes, "that 'twould do Jimmie a world o'
good."
"Read on," said she.
"'It costs money to make the Kurepain,'" Jim read, aloud. "'It is not
a sugar-and-water remedy. It is a _cure_, manufactured at _great
expense_. Good medicines come _high_. But the peerless Kurepain is
_cheap_ when compared with the worthless substitutes now on the market
and sold for just as good. Our price is five dollars a bottle; three
bottles guaranteed to cure.'"
Jim Grimm stopped dead. He looked up. His wife steadily returned his
glance. The Labrador dweller is a poor man--a very poor man. Rarely
does a dollar of hard cash slip into his hand. And this was hard cash.
Five dollars a bottle! Five dollars for that which was neither food
nor clothing!
"'Tis fearful!" he sighed.
"But read on," said she.
"'In order to introduce the Kurepain into this locality, we have set
aside _one thousand bottles_ of this _incomparable_ medicine. That
number, _and no more_, we will dispose of at four dollars a bottle. Do
not make a mistake. When the supply is exhausted, the price will
_rise_ to eight dollars a bottle, owing to a scarcity of one of the
ingredients. We honestly advise you, if you are in pain or suffering,
to take advantage of this _rare_ opportunity. A word to the wise is
sufficient. Order to-day.'"
"'Tis a great bargain, Jim," the mother whispered.
"Ay," Jim answered, dubiously.
His wife patted his hand. "When Jimmie's cured," she went on, "he
could help you with the traps, an'----"
"'Tis not for _that_ I wants un cured," Jim Grimm flashed. "I'm
willin' an' able for me labour. 'Tis not for that. I'm just thinkin'
all the time about seein' him run about like he used to. That's what
_I_ wants."
"Doesn't you think, Jim, that we could manage it--if we tried
wonderful hard?"
"'Tis accordin' t' what fur I traps, mum, afore the ice goes an' the
steamer comes. I'm hopin' we'll have enough left over t' buy the
cure."
"You're a good father, Jim," the mother said, at last. "I knows you'll
do for the best. Leave us wait until the spring time comes."
"Ay," he agreed; "an' we'll say nar a word t' little Jimmie."
They laid hold on the hope in Hook's Kurepain. Life was brighter,
then. They looked forward to the cure. The old merry, scampering
Jimmie, with his shouts and laughter and gambols and pranks, was to
return to them. When, as the winter dragged along, Jim Grimm brought
home the fox skins from the wilderness, Jimmie fondled them, and
passed upon their quality, as to colour and size and fur. Jim Grimm
and his wife exchanged smiles. Jimmie did not know that upon the
quality and number of the skins, which he delighted to stroke and pat,
depended his cure. Let the winter pass! Let the ice move out from the
coast! Let the steamer come for the letters! Let her go and return
again! _Then_ Jimmie should know.
"We'll be able t' have _one_ bottle, whatever," said the mother.
"'Twill be more than that, mum," Jim Grimm answered, confidently. "We
wants our Jimmie cured."