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But, instead, of Jehosophat giving him away, it seemed Dr. Pipp was going to give something away himself, for he was saying in his speech,–

“Because I was once born in your beautiful ceety, I will give away–for this night only–a whole bottle of this magic medicine for the trifling sum of fifty cents!”

That was very generous, thought the boys, and they said so to the Toyman, but again he told them to “wait an’ see.”

And then Dr. Philemon Pipp turned to the crowd of men and boys and hollered real loud like the minister at camp-meeting,–

“Who’ll be the first to be cuhed? Who’ll be the first to be happy again?”

And one by one the silly people went down in their pockets, and brought up their fifty-cent pieces, and handed them up to the man on the wagon.

You see, every one must have had at least one of the kinds of pains and aches Dr. Pipp talked about, for he mentioned every one in the world.

Marmaduke thought that black medicine would be fine for the Toyman.

“Toyman,” he said, “buy a bottle, an’ it will cure you of that bad rheumatism.”

“No,” replied the Toyman, “that won’t cure even chilblains. That old codger’s not telling the truth. And the people are fools to believe him.”

But all this time Dr. Pipp was handing out the bottles with one hand, and collecting the fifty-cent pieces with the other, and the Red Indian was singing his funny song,–

“Ging goo, ging goo,
Hunk-a-tin, hunk-a-tin, hunk-a-tin,
Geegry goo, geegry goo,
All-a-man lissen!”

And the light nickered on the funny pictures of the skeleton and the man with his skin off, and then on Dr. Philemon Pipp with his long black hair and tall silk hat, and on the feathers of the Red Indian, as he danced up and down singing that funny song.

At last something stranger still happened.

The Toyman had just muttered to himself,–

“They’re fools, they are, but I guess I ought to stop him.”

And just as he said this, Dr. Philemon saw him in the crowd. The Doctor must have felt hurt because the Toyman hadn’t bought any of his bottles, for he pointed a finger with a great long nail right at the Toyman and said:

“Yuh sah, aren’t yuh willin’ to be cuhed?”

Now the Toyman was forever saying funny and surprising things, but he never said anything funnier and more surprising in his life than what he told that patent-medicine man.

“No, thank you, Mr. Steve Jorkins”–that’s just what he called him, not Dr. Pipp at all–“that medicine of yours isn’t magic. It wouldn’t even cure a chicken of the pip.”

Then all the men crowded around the Toyman, calling him by his old name.

“Do you know him, Frank? Is he fooling us?”

“You bet he is,” replied the Toyman, “and he’s got all your hard-earned money in his jeans.”

Then he called to the boys to “come quick,” for he thought there would be trouble, and there was.

For all those men and boys in the crowd climbed up on the wagon–and they grabbed Dr. Philemon Pipp by his fine fur collar–and they made him give back their money, every last cent of it. Then, while some of them held him, the others smashed all his bottles until the black juice ran over the tailboard like a dark waterfall, and they hurled his high silk hat on the top of the lamp-post, yelling,–

“You git out of here, quick! Come, skedaddle!”

And since, in his fright, he didn’t “skedaddle” fast enough to suit them, they threw beets and all sorts of vegetables at him, vegetables that had been ripe a very long time. So at last the tall Doctor with his fine fur collar–but without his silk hat–hitched up his horses with trembling fingers, and he and his helper Jake and the Red Indian drove out of town “lickety-split.” You could hear the wagon-wheels rattling away long after he turned the corner.

Then the Toyman “tlucked” to Hal and they drove off, too.

“How did you know him?” Jehosophat asked, after they had trotted a little way.

“Oh, I used to know him out West. He didn’t remember me, but I did him. I bought one of his bottles once.”

“Is he a robber?”

“Well, he calls himself a patent-medicine man, but I’d call him a ‘fakir.'”

“What’s a ‘fakir,’ Toyman?” put in Marmaduke, very sleepily.

“Oh, a man who pretends to be something he isn’t, and who sells folks something that’s no good, and takes all their money for nothing. But”–and he laughed–“some folks like to be fooled.”

“It’s too bad!” sighed Marmaduke.

“What’s too bad, sonny?”

“Why, to smash all those big bottles and waste all that lovely licorice water.”

But he soon forgot all about the bottles and the licorice water, and the bad Doctor Pipp with the tall hat and the fur collar, and the Red Indian, too, for, as they rode along by the River, the Moon was up, and seemed to be riding along with them–never getting ahead or behind, just keeping even with Hal the Red Roan. And Marmaduke loved to go riding or walking with a great yellow moon. Besides, the Toyman told them a story, as he had promised–and a nice one it was–so the little boy fell asleep.

But I wouldn’t say that they never dreamed about that fur collar, and the tall hat, and the Indian, and all those bottles.

It’s just possible that they did.