—Yes, I am. I said it, and I stick by it.
—Reckon you wouldn’t want to cover that there statement with a little coin?
The man looked relieved.
—I cain’t cover it by myself, but they’s a bunch of us from Prairie will make up a pot for Pud Foster.
—Git a hat, said a voice.
—Here’s a hat, said a voice.
—Who’s here’ll back Pud Foster from Prairie?
—I’ll put in, a man said. He can beat any beersot from town any day.
Several men shoved their way in and began to talk bets. There was a frightful blast of sound. It was the band starting up again. They were playing ‘Yankee Doodle.’
—Shucks, Zeke said. No fight.
—But that sure ought to be some race, Johnny said.
—What’s going on, boys?
It was T. D. He was taller than anyone else in the crowd. His blond pointed beard was bobbing up and down. He was rubbing his hands together and smacking his lips.
—They’re betting on a race, Johnny said.
—That’s what I thought, T. D. said.
He pushed his way into the crowd.
—Gambling is a sin before the Lord, gentlemen. Put up your money.
—Put up your lip, you old she-goat, a man said.
The crowd roared.
—Pa’s gittin’ hisself into something, Zeke said. Looks like they might be a fight after all, and us in it.
—No harm done, Pop, Flash Perkins said. Here, give the old guy a drink.
—Who is that crazy old bastard, anyway? the solemn, sharpfaced citizen said to Zeke.
—That’s my pa, Zeke said.
Zeke was seventeen and looked a man. His red hair bristled all directions.
—What’s that? the man said.
—I said that’s my father.
—O, the man said. Is that a fact?
He looked thoughtful and began to move away through the crowd.
—Young man, T. D. said to Flash Perkins, who was holding his beermug in one hand and a hatful of money in the other, don’t you know that your body is a temple of the spirit and you defile it and pollute it with that devil’s brew you have there?
Flash’s forehead made ridges.
—If you say so, Pappy.
—Hello, Johnny.
It was Ellen Shawnessy, her face excited and curious, her small body straining on tiptoes to see over the shoulders of the crowd.
—What’s T. D. doing? she asked.
—Pa’s preaching a little at them.
T. D. went on talking awhile about the lusts of the flesh and the wages of sin. He clasped his hands behind his back in the usual way and teetered back and forth from heels to toes, smiling amiably at the crowd, his long blue eyes a little absent and noticing things that went on some distance away. His closing remarks were delivered in some haste, like a child’s recitation.
—What are they betting about? Ellen whispered to Johnny.
—The Footrace, Johnny said.
—When is it?
—I don’t know.
—Be sure not to let me miss it, she said.
—O.K., O.K., Reverend, I get it, Flash Perkins said. We were just foolin’.
T. D. bowed pleasantly, straightened his tie, and walked serenely down the street with Ellen. The crowd went right on arguing and making bets, only now they all moved into the Saloon and got drinks. Johnny could see through the batwing doors how they laughed and swatted each other’s backs and how they kept wiping beer out of their mustaches.
—I hope he loses that race, Zeke said.
But Johnny somehow felt that Flash Perkins would win the race. He looked like the winner type.
—Ladies and Gentlemen, spare me a little of your precious time, boomed a rich voice from the court house lawn.
Behind a table loaded with brightcolored bottles, stood a man with noble black mane and heavy beard, unshorn, lustrous, magnificent.
—I trust you all perceive the object which I hold in my hand, the man said, as the boys joined the crowd.
—Yes, we see it, Perfessor.
—What is it?
—Well, what of it?
—It is nothing, the man said, but a bottle, a simple, unadorned, ordinary bottle. And yet, friends, this simple, plain, unadorned, and ordinary bottle contains in it a secret preparation, the miracle-worker of our age. Ladies and Gentlemen, may I have just a little of your precious time to describe to you the extree-ordinary virtues of the elixir contained in this bottle?
—Sure. Go on.
—Get to the point, Perfessor.
—I am getting to the point, the man said serenely, and judging, my good sir, from the condition of your scalp and hair, you would be wise to pay special heed to what I have to say.
The man who had said, Get to the point, was standing right beside Johnny. He was a short man, genteelly dressed. Singled out, he put his hand up and smoothed a wreath of hair fitted down on his bare dome.
—Now then, the speaker continued, I trust you will all permit me to indulge in a little personal reminiscence. I am sure that few of you will believe me when I tell you that not many years ago my head was fast approaching the condition of hairlessness that you behold in the gentleman on the front row and in several other domes which I see about me here and which are, in the words of the poet,
Open unto the fields and to the sky,
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Now I think we will all agree that the good Lord never does anything without a purpose, and if he meant mankind to go about with his skull naked of hair, why did he bestow upon us this lush and luxuriant foliage that in our natural state starts and stands triumphantly, according to the words of the poet,
With all its fronds in air?
Fellow Americans, the good Lord intended each and every one of us to have his hair and all of it too, for as the fellow said about his wife, She ain’t much, but I mean to hang on to her if I can.
The crowd whahwhahed.
—Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, I was once in the condition of several of you here. For about twenty years, my hair had been turning gray and had become very stiff and unpliant. Bald patches were appearing on my scalp, and the skin scaled off. Each time I brushed my hair, I found the brush matted with dry tufts of hair. I tried all the famous hair restoratives on the market, but they seemed to only aggravate my condition. Then a friend told me about Mrs. Allen’s World Hair Restorer and reported to me the marvellous recoveries effected thereby. I will confess to you that I was very skeptical at first, but on the repeated importunities of my friend, I finally gave in and purchased a bottle of Mrs. Allen’s World Hair Restorer. Ladies and Gentlemen, need I say more? Within a week or two, a noticeable change was apparent. My hair began to recover the black lustre it had in my younger days when a boy in the hills of western Virginia. My head became entirely clear of dandruff, and new hair grew where the old had been. You see before you today, Ladies and Gentlemen, a man whose pride and hair have been restored together and general health improved. Butler, my acquaintances often remark to me, where did you get the fine wig? But I assure you, friends, it is no wig.
—It looks like a wig to me, friend, the baldheaded man said.
—Pull it, friend, the vender said.
The baldheaded man walked right out of the crowd and carefully examined the speaker’s head. He pulled hard.
—No sir, he said, that’s no wig.
—You bet it isn’t, the speaker said. It’s hair, friend, live and lusty, and you can have a head like that too, friend.
—How can I, friend? said the baldheaded man, now standing beside the speaker.
—Very simple, friend. Purchase one bottle of Mrs. Allen’s World Hair Restorer for one dollar and fifty cents, and I will personally guarantee that you will have the beginnings of a fine head of hair in a week or two.
—I’ll take a bottle of that, the baldheaded man said.
He pulled ou
t a dollar and a half and gave it to the speaker.
—And just to be sure that you get your money’s worth, the speaker said, I am going to give away to you free, gratis, and for no extra charge this large bottle of Doctor Hostetter’s Celebrated Stomach Waters, guaranteed to cure any and all diseases of the alimentary tract, nervous, respiratory, muscular, and circulatory systems—to wit, stomach ache, heartburn, dyspepsia, diarrhea, dysentery, dizziness, fainting spells, biliousness, piles, pimples, arthritis, lumbago, rheumatism, jaundice, kidney trouble, female complaints, and organic weaknesses caused by youthful indiscretion or the approach of old age. For the next ten minutes, to everyone who can get up here with a dollar and fifty cents, I will make this extra-special-gigantic-double-for-your-money offer of two bottles. Mrs. Allen’s World Hair Restorer is also an excellent hair-dressing for the ladies.
—I’ll take two orders, Perfessor, said the baldheaded man, who was still holding his money and had not yet got his hands on the bottle.
—Here you are, my friend, the man said.
He gave the baldheaded man four bottles and put the money in his pocket.
The baldheaded man opened a bottle of the hair-restorer, shot a little of the brown liquid into the cup of his hand, and rubbed it on his head. There was a silence. A hundred eager faces watched the little man with the shiny bald head.
—It tingles, said the baldheaded man.
—You bet it does, friend, the vender said. It tingles, and that means it’s taking already. Use that bottle religiously, friend, and I predict the barbers of this community will get a lot of your money before the year is out.
—But he ain’t from this community, a man next to Johnny said.
—Where’s he from? another man said.
—I dunno, the first man said, but I never seen him before.
—And, said the vender, let me be the first to congratulate you on the great discovery which you have just made. Your wife will be a happy woman, friend.
—I’m not married, friend, said the baldheaded man.
—You will be, friend, you will be! said the vender magnificently. No woman in town will be able to resist you when you grow the shiny, black, and vigorous head of hair that will spring up in response to the stimulating power of this wonderful hair restorative.
Johnny Shawnessy felt happy because the baldheaded man had discovered the secret for getting back his hair; he was very happy, too, to see how people flocked up and bought bottle after bottle from the vender. He could not remember ever having seen so much money in so short a time.
—How can he make any money, giving that other bottle away? Johnny asked.
—I reckon he does it for fun, Zeke said. Look how he’s enjoyed hisself.
—I wish I had a dollar and fifty cents, Johnny said. I’d like to get a couple of bottles.
—But you got all your hair, and you ain’t sick, Zeke said.
—Just the same——Johnny said.
Just then the band struck up again, and the two boys moved reluctantly away. They watched the baldheaded man withdraw from the crowd. Moving along close to this person whose scalp now seemed to shine with the promise of reviving hair, they were a little surprised when he stopped at a small tent on the other side of the Square and went in. They waited, and in a moment, he came out again, carrying a large board frame, which he hung over a nail on a maple tree beside the tent. The frame bore a huge picture of a head, seen in profile and with all the upper part, beginning on a level with the eye, divided into sections, in each of which a word was written. Some of the words were Acquisitiveness, Alimentativeness, Amativeness, Cautiousness, Sublimity, Spirituality, Self-Esteem, Approbativeness. Above the picture were the words
PROFESSOR GLADSTONE, WORLD-RENOWNED
PHRENOLOGIST.
At the bottom were the words
KNOW THYSELF.
The little man re-entered the tent and reappeared with a pointer, an armload of small clothbound books, and a cowbell, which he began to ring. A large crowd gathered.
—Allow me, said the baldheaded man, to introduce myself, Ladies and Gentlemen. I am Professor Horace Gladstone. Those of you who may have heard me lecture lately in the great city of Cincinnati will pardon me if I repeat some of the things I said there to the distinguished company which assembled in the great lecture hall of that metropolis of the West.
Now I have a question to ask each and every intelligent person gathered here. Friend, are you everything today that you would like to be? Are you as rich as you wish? Do you excel in the social graces? Do you radiate that personal magnetism which makes the great to respect you and the humble to acknowledge your superiority? Why, friends, why are there so many blighted and unhappy lives, so many stunted souls, so many men and women today in this great and glorious country of ours who are something less than they had hoped to be in the blithe optimism of their youth?
Ladies and Gentlemen, I can answer that question. It is through a simple ignorance of the scientific principles that regulate human life. O, you say, Perfessor, don’t go giving me any high-falutin’ language about science because I can’t understand it. Friends, it is my happy good fortune to have it within my power to open up to each and every one of you all the marvellous secrets of a great new science, by which you can achieve, like thousands before you, complete self-knowledge and self-control. That science, Ladies and Gentlemen, is the great new science of Phrenology.
Now we all agree, do we not, that no man can or does exist in rational society without a brain. May I say that in Kentucky, whence I have lately come, I felt some disposition to modify that statement, but——
The Professor waited for the applause and laughter of the crowd to subside.
—But I see no need to do so for the intelligent and enlightened concourse that I see before my eyes. Now, we all know that the brain is the instrument of every mental act, just as every movement of the body has to be performed by a muscle. Certain areas of the brain control certain human faculties and are large or small in proportion to the development of the faculties they control. Thanks to the great experiments and studies of Professors Gall, Spurheiz, and Fowler, it is now possible to say with the strictest accuracy which part of the brain controls which faculty. These facts are now available to all. Nothing is simpler, once these principles are known, than to apply them.
I have myself become a specialist in the science of Phrenology. I have examined the heads of three Presidents and many other great and distinguished heads here and abroad, not excepting the crowned heads of Europe. By helping people to become better acquainted with their strong and weak points, I have been able to direct them to a fuller exercise or restraint of certain faculties. Many hundreds and thousands of people have already benefited from this instruction. Penniless paupers have become the possessors of uncounted pelf. Timid and backward souls have sought and won the hands of the richest and most ravishing maidens. Old men have recovered the lost joys of their juvenescence. Gentlemen and Ladies, I am here in your fair little city of Middletown——
—This ain’t Middletown, said a voice in the crowd. It’s Freehaven.
—Freehaven, said the Professor. Thank you, friend, for the correction. I am here in this fair little city of Freehaven for a limited time. I have a small stock of books left over from my travels in the great cities of the West, and I should like to get rid of them as rapidly as I can. Now I wish I could give each and every one of you a private and personal analysis of your phrenological faculties. Alas, my friends, due to the small time I have at my disposal, I must forego this signal pleasure. But I have here between my two hands a little book that contains all the advice needful. It is perfectly within the comprehension of every one and each of you. On the inside page of this book is a copy of the chart which you see hanging here, and a table of the phrenological faculties. Now the book is entirely self-explanatory, but I am willing to give a little demonstration here of Phrenological Analysis, if someone in the crowd will be so kind as to volunteer.
There was a silence.
—Come, don’t be embarrassed, the Professor said. It’s absolutely free of charge, and furthermore I will give to anyone who so volunteers for the instruction of this amiable and enlightened company one of these books at half-price instead of the usual price of one dollar and fifty cents.
Johnny Shawnessy felt himself propelled from behind out of the crowd. He heard Zeke laughing, and he was about to duck back, but the Professor was tapping him smartly on the shoulder with his pointer.
—Yes, my boy. Step right up here. I am about to do you a great favor, my boy. O, that I had had the inestimable blessing of a Phrenological Analysis when I was your age! How old are you, my boy?
—Fifteen, Johnny said. I didn’t mean to——
—Perfectly all right, my boy. Just come up on this platform and sit down here on the edge of this table.
A firecracker exploded, and the band struck up a number. The Professor waved his hands to indicate that nothing could be accomplished until the band was through. For the first time in his life, Johnny had the sensation of being extracted from the crowd and placed above it in naked isolation. The Court House Square was converging upon him; he was being absorbed by its manifold bright eyes. The band stopped playing.
—Ladies and Gentlemen, said the little man, we have an interesting head here, a very interesting head. To you, this may be only another head, more or less, but to the practiced eye of the phrenologist, this boy’s character and potentialities—nay, his whole past, present, and future—are legible in the geography of his skull. Now, then, just cast your eyes on this chart a moment, friends, and notice this section of the head below the eye.
The pointer touched the glazed, segmented head and underlined the word LANGUAGE.
—According to phrenological principles, friends, we are to measure the degree of prominence which these various areas of the skull possess and we can determine thereby the capabilities of the person we are dealing with. Now then——
A fat hand touched moistly the region below Johnny’s eyes.
—Open your eyes, boy. Don’t sit there blinking like an owl.
As usual the sun hurt his eyes; there was much light in the Square.