A man named Johnson dropped a line to say that after applying the hair
vigor to his scalp he had leaned his head against the back of a chair,
and it had now been in that position two days. He feared he would
never be released unless he cut up the chair and wore the piece
permanently on his head. He was coming to see Perkins in reference to
the matter when he got loose, and he was going to bring his dog with
him.

A Mr. Wilson said that his boy had put some of the vigor on his face
in order to induce the growth of a moustache, and that at the present
moment the boy's upper lip was glued fast to the tip of his nose and
his countenance looked as if it had been coated with green varnish.

There were about forty other letters, giving the details of sundry
other cases of awful suffering and breathing threatenings and
slaughter against Mr. Perkins. Just as Mr. Perkins was finishing
these epistles a friend of his came rushing in through the back door
breathless, and exclaimed,

"By George, Aleck, you better get over the fence and leave town as
quick as you can. There's thunder to pay about those patent medicines
of yours. Old Mrs. Gridley's just gone up on that liver regulator,
after being in convulsions for a week. Thompson's hired girl is lying
at the last gasp, four of the Browns have got the awfulest-looking
heads you ever saw from the hair vigor, and about a dozen other people
are up at the sheriff's office taking out warrants for your arrest.
The people are talking of mobbing you, and the crowd out here on the
pavement are cheering a green-headed man with a gun who says he's
going to bang the head off of you. Now, you take my advice and skip.