THE labor of the week is o’er, the stress and toil titanic, and to his
humble cottage door returns the tired mechanic. He hangs his
weather-beaten tile and coat upon a rafter; the housewife greets him
with a smile, the bairns with joyous laughter. The supper is a merry
meal, and when they’ve had their vittles, the mother plies her spinning
wheel, while father smokes and whittles. But now the kids, a joyous
crowd, must cease to romp and caper, for father starts to read aloud the
helpful daily paper:
“A cancer on the neck or knees once meant complete disaster; but Dr.
Chowder guarantees to cure it with a plaster. He doesn’t use an ax or
spade, or blast it out with powder; don’t let your coming be
delayed—rely on Dr. Chowder!”
Outdoors there is a rising gale, a fitful rain is falling; they hear the
east winds sadly wail like lonely phantoms calling. But all is peace and
joy within, and eyes with gladness glisten, and father, with a happy
grin, reads on, and bids them listen:
“If you have pimples on your nose or bunions on your shoulder, if you
have ringbones on your toes—ere you’re a minute older call up the
druggist on the phone and have him send a basket of Faker’s pills, for
they alone will save you from a casket.”
The clock ticks on the cottage wall, and marks the minutes’ speeding;
the firelight dances in the hall, on dad, where he sits reading. Oh,
quiet, homely scene of bliss, the nation’s pride and glory! And in a
million homes like this, dad reads the precious story:
“Oh, countless are the grievous ills, afflicting human critters, but we
have always Bunkum’s Pills, and Skookum’s Hogwash Bitters. Have you the
symptoms of the gout along your muscles playing? And are your whiskers
falling out, and are your teeth decaying? Have you no appetite for
greens, and do you balk at fritters? We’ll tell you, reader, what it
means—you need some Hogwash Bitters!”
The children nod their drowsy heads, their toys around them lying. “I’ll
take them to their little beds,” says mother, softly sighing. “It’s time
they were away from here—the evening is advancing; but ere they go, O
husband dear, read one more tale entrancing.” And father seeks that
inside page where “Household Hints” are printed, where, for the good of
youth and age, this “Household Hint” is hinted:
“If you have maladies so rank they are too fierce to mention, just call
on good old Dr. Crank; you’ll find it his intention to cure you up where
others fail, though t’others number twenty; but don’t forget to bring
the kale, and see that you have plenty.”
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