No one ever grumbles that he is not getting his money's worth.

It is the one monumental exception, where men are willing to accept and be satisfied with a fractional part of that which they have bought and paid for.
So when the layer of fresh mustard that covered the whole anterior surface of Mr.Alspaugh's torso began to take a fair hold of its appointed work that gentlemen's thoughts became strangely focused upon it, and they succeeded each other as the minutes went by something in this fashion: FIRST TEN MINUTES.--"I 'spect that this may become rather unpleasant and bothersome, but it will not be for long, and it'll really do me much good." SECOND TEN MINUTES.--"I had no idea that blisters felt just this way, but they never really hurt anybody but women and children--MEN laugh at them." THIRD TEN MINUTES.--"The thing seems to be hunting 'round for my tender spots, and pokin' pins into 'em.

I begin to wish that it was all over with." FOURTH TEN MINUTES.--"It begins to hurt real bad.

I wonder if it ain't a'most time to take it off ?" FIFTH TEN MINUTES.--"The very devil seems to be in that thing.

It burns like as if a sheet of red-hot iron was layin' there." SIXTH TEN MINUTES.--"I surely believe that they've made a terrible mistake about that blister, and put in some awful thing that'll kill me if it ain't stopped.