Of Esme the old quack was quite as proud as of Hal.  To him she embodied and typified, in its extreme form, those things which all his money could not buy.  That she disliked the Certina business and made no secret of the fact did not in the least interfere with a genuine liking between herself and its proprietor.  Dr. Surtaine could not discuss Certina with Hal:  there were too many wounds still open between them.  But with Esme he could, and often did.  Her attitude struck him as nicely philosophic and impersonal, if a bit disdainful.  And in these days he had to talk to some one, for he was swollen with a great and glorious purpose.

He announced it one resplendent fall day, having gone out to Greenvale with that particular object in view, at an hour when he was sure that Hal would be at the office.

“Esme, I’m going to make you a wedding present of Certina,” he said.

“Never take it, Doctor,” she replied, smiling up at him in friendly recognition of what had come to be a subject of stock joke between them.

“I’m serious.  I’m going to make you a wedding present of the Certina business.  I guess there aren’t many brides get a gift of half a million a year.  Too bad I can’t give it out to the newspapers, but it wouldn’t do.”

“What on earth do you mean?” cried the astonished girl.  “I couldn’t take it.  Hal wouldn’t let me.”

“I’m going to give it up, for you.  You think it ain’t genteel and high-toned, don’t you?”

“I think it isn’t honest.”

“Not discussing business principles, to-day,” retorted the Doctor good-humoredly.  “It’s a question of taste now.  You’re ashamed of the proprietary medicine game, aren’t you, my dear?”

Esme laughed.  Embarrassment with Dr. Surtaine was impossible.  He was too childlike.  “A little,” she confessed.

“You’d be glad if I quit it.”

“Of course I would.  I suppose you can afford it.”

As if responding to the touch of a concealed spring, the Surtaine chest protruded.  “You find me something I can’t afford, and I’ll buy it!” he declared.  “But this won’t even cost me anything in the long run.  Esme, did I ever tell you my creed?”

“‘Certina Cures,’” suggested the girl mischievously.

“That’s for business.  I mean for everyday life.  My creed is to let Providence take care of folks in general while I look after me and mine.”

“It’s practical, at least, if not altruistic.”

“Me, and mine,” repeated the charlatan.  “Do you get that ‘and mine’?  That means the employees of the Certina factory.  Now, if I quit making Certina, what about them?  Shall I turn them out on the street?”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” admitted the girl blankly.

“Business can be altruistic as well as practical, you see,” he observed.  “Well, I’ve worked out a scheme to take care of that.  Been working on it for months.  Certina is going to die painlessly.  And I’m going to preach its funeral oration at the factory on Monday.  Will you come, and make Hal come, too?”