“Step right up, don’t be shy,” cried the mountebank, “get your Dr. Dee’s Cure-all Tonic!”
He stood on stage in front of his red and gold painted wagon, pointing his cane at the old man passing by.
“You there, sir! With one sip of my magic elixir before bed, you will dream the dreams of youth. Yessir, skinned knees, first kisses, and fourth of July parades, every night in your dreams. Guaranteed.”
“How much?” said the old man.
“Only twenty-five cents a bottle.”
The old man held up a ten dollar bill, his entire life savings. “I’ll take it all.”