Another was: "Bennington's Restorer Really Restores."

"Have you lost something?" asked Mollie, bringing the car to a stop. He looked up quickly, and smiled, but the smile only seemed to make his face harder, instead of softening it.

"Yes, ladies," he said with a smirk and bow, taking off his broad brimmed hat, and running his fingers through his hair, making it fluff out more than ever, "I have lost a bolt out of part of my wagon, and I'm afraid to go on lest I break down. It dropped somewhere in the dust, but I can't find it."

"I have a supply of spare bolts in my tool box," spoke Mollie, "I'll give you one, and that will save you looking any more."

"Thank you, lady. It will be just what I want." From the tool box on the run board he soon selected a bolt that fitted his wagon.

"And now let me repay your kindness," he said. "I am, as you see, a traveling peddler of hair tonic. May I present you with a bottle?" and he offered Mollie one.

"No, thank you," and she laughed merrily. "It is something that I never use."

"You all have fine hair," returned the peddler; "but at that it would be all the better for Bennington's Restorer—I am Bennington—I make it myself," and he bowed. "Won't you take it. I can guarantee it harmless."

"No, thank you just the same," repeated Mollie. "And you are entirely welcome to the bolt. Good-bye," and she started her car.