"The best bitter in the market." He alluded to it in the singular.

"Like to look at it?
No trouble to show goods, as the fellah says," he went on hastily, seeing Uncle Ethan's hesitation.
He produced a large bottle of triangular shape, like a bottle for pickled onions.

It had a red seal on top, and a strenuous caution in red letters on the neck, "None genuine unless 'Dodd's Family Bitters' is blown in the bottom." "Here's what it cures," pursued the agent, pointing at the side, where, in an inverted pyramid, the names of several hundred diseases were arranged, running from "gout" to "pulmonary complaints," etc.
"I gol! she cuts a wide swath, don't she ?" exclaimed Uncle Ethan, profoundly impressed with the list.
"They ain't no better bitter in the world," said the agent, with a conclusive inflection.
"What's its speshy-_al_ity?
Most of 'em have some speshy-_al_ity." "Well--summer complaints--an'-- an'-- spring an' fall troubles--tones ye up, sort of." Uncle Ethan's forgotten pan was empty of his gathered bugs.

He was deeply interested in this man.

There was something he liked about him.
"What does it sell fur ?" he asked, after a pause.
"Same price as them cheap medicines--dollar a bottle--big bottles, too.
Want one ?" "Wal, mother ain't to home, an' I don't know as she'd like this kind.