Newark evening star and Newark advertiser. [volume] (Newark, N.J.) 1909-1916, 1913-05-05
CHAPTER VII.
,mon ID Groot Does Business.

ITO his surprise, Kent, turning
into the village Square, found
the crowd still lingering. A
new focus of interest had drawn 1t
to a spot opposite Sterrett's store,
where wagon, decorated in the most
advanced style of circus art, shone
brilliant in yellow and green. Bright
red letters across the front presented
to public admiration the legend;
SIMON p. GROOT
SIMON PURE GOODS
A stout projection rested on one of
the rear wheels. Here stood the pro-
prietor of the vehicle, while behind
him in window were dis
played his wares. 1t was evil
dent that Simon P. Croft followed
the romantic career of an itinerant
hawker, dealing in that wide
range of commodities roughly COM
prised in the quaint term, Yankee
notions" Before the merchandising
voice came to the new arrivals ears
as anything more than a confused
tumble, Kent was struck with the ex-
pansive splendor of the mans ges-
lures. the dignity Of his robust figure,
and the beauty of a broad whitening
beard that spread sidewise like the
ripples from boats stem. Two
blemishes unhappily marred the
majesty of Simon P. Groot's pres
ence; a pair of pin-head eyes, mutu-
ally attracted to each other, and
mean and stringent little voice. Freed
of these drawbacks. his oratory might
well. one could not but feel, have
rolled in any of our legislative cham
bers more superbly and just as inef-
fectually as much of the other ora
tory therein practised. That the An
nalakans were truly spellbound by 1t
was obvious. Indeed. Kent was at a
loss to understand the depth of their
absorption until he had come within
the scope of the high-piping words.
There, gentlemen and ladies',
Simon P. Groot was saying, there
in that place of vast silences and in
folding shadows I met and addressed
one who was soon to be no more.
Madam 1 said, you are worn. You
are wan. You are weary. Trust the
chivalry of one who might be your
father. Rest and be comforted as
with balm Standing by the road
side she dropped like a flower, There
is no rest for me- said she in mourn
full tones. L must away upon my
mission STAY I babe her. Ere
YOU go. but touch your lips to this
revivifying fiagon. De Lorimer's Life
Giving Tonic. free from intoxicants,
poisons and deception, a boon to the
| blood. a balm to the nerves. prop
| to the tagging spirit She looked,
she tasted. she drank. New color
sprang to her cheeks Her form pull
stated with joyous vigor. Aged sir,
said she, I know not your name; but
! If the blessings of harried spirit
are of avail. your sleep will be sweet
this night OF this wonderful balm.
ladies and gentlemen of Annaiaga, !
have still a few bottles left at the
| low price of half dollar each. SICK
ness flies before it. matchmaking
at once with the blood. 1t clears the
precious life fluid of all impurities,
and rehabilitates man. woman and
! child, body, soul and mind"
The shrill voice rose and fell,
| the wide beard quivered with the
J passion of salesmanship. the gaudy
I bottles on the shelf were replaced by
half-dollars, until the market tagged
Whereupon again the orator took uI
| his tale.
Ever shall l give thanks for thai
inestimable privilege, the privilege OF
having given cheer to one on the
brink of a dreadful doom. She van
ished, that fair creature, into the
forest. l looked at my watch-the
unerring, warranted, sixteen-jeweled
chronometer which ] shall presently
have the honor Of showing to you al