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.”