or. "They only gave me your room
number."

"I am Clem Sypher, the proprietor of Sypher's Cure."

The two men stared at one another, Sypher in a blue-striped pyjama jacket,
supporting himself by one elbow on the bed, the doctor at the foot. The
doctor spread out his hands.

"It's the most horrible moment of my life. I am at your mercy. I only gave
you my honest opinion, the result of my experience. If I had known your
name--naturally--"

"You had better go," said Sypher in a queer voice, digging the nails into
the palms of his hands. "Your fee--?"

"There is no question of it. I am only grieved to the heart at having
wounded you. Good morning."

The door closed behind him, and Sypher gave himself up to his furious
indignation.

* * * * *

This soothed the soul but further inflamed the ankle. He called up the
manager of the hotel and sent for the leading medical man in Geneva. When
he arrived he took care to acquaint him with his name and quality. Dr.
Bourdillot, professor of dermatology in the University of Geneva, made his
examination, and shook a tactful head. With all consideration for the many
admirable virtues of _la cure Sypher_, yet there were certain maladies of
the skin for which he personally would not prescribe it. For this, for
that--he rattled off half a dozen of learned diseases--it might very well
be efficacious. Its effect would probably be benign in a case of
elephantiasis. But in a case of abrasion of the cuticle, where there was a
large surface of raw flesh laid bare, perhaps a simpler treatment might be
more desirable.

His tone was exquisite, and he chose his language so that not a word could
wound. Sypher listened to him with a sinking heart.

"In your opinion then, doctor," said he, "it isn't a good thing for
blistered heels?"

"You ask for my opinion," replied the professor of dermatology at the
University of Geneva. "I give it you. No."

Sypher threw out a hand, desperately argumentative.

"But I know of a case in which it has proved efficacious. A Zouave of my
acquaintance--"

Dr. Bourdillot smiled. "A Zouave? Just as nothing is sacred to a sapper, so
is nothing hurtful to a Zouave. They have hides like hippopotamuses, those
fellows. You could dip them in vitriol and they wouldn't feel it."

"So his heels recovered in spite of the Cure?" said Sypher, grimly.

"Evidently," said Dr. Bourdillot.

* * * * *

Sypher