“Now let’s hear from the Vinegar King. We have had much sweet, perhaps we would like a little sour for a change.”

His Majesty was tall and thin, dressed in velvet knee breeches and fancy coat with silver trimmings. His cockade hat looked as though he really did belong to royalty, but so sour an expression did he wear you could tell at once that he stood for nothing sweet.

“Ladies and Gentlemen: I am happy—”

“Happy—you?” queried the audience in gales of laughter.

“I didn’t mean to say I was happy. I started to say I am happy to inform you that in wine countries I come from fermented poor wines, elsewhere from malt or apple cider.”

With that he sat down.

“Here! Here! Is that all you have to tell us?” cried Cinnamon Stick.

“All! It is much more than Molasses had to say.”

“You have talked for twenty seconds. Molasses entertained us for many minutes!”

“Yes, Mr. Chairman, but if you simmer down what Molasses told you of her history, it will take three seconds by the clock to say it. It was this: ‘I am the juice from the sugar cane boiled down and gurgled into a barrel!’”

Vinegar tried so hard to imitate Molasses, even to the sweet expression, he sat down amid roars of laughter.

Molasses now hopped up in the greatest haste, crying:

“So I did gurgle into a barrel, and into a jug, too. It was all there was to tell. Sugar Cane had to tell the beginning of me because we came from the same thing. It was why I told the story, and dear knows it was a sweet story.”

“The gentleman with silver trimmed knee breeches will kindly tell us something further of himself,” said Cinnamon Stick in bland tones. “What are you good for?”

“I am used for soothing remedies in the pharmacies.”

“Soothing!” laughed Salt and Pepper. “I hope you have your picture on the outside of the bottles.”

“I do. They especially asked for it. I am good for many things besides medicine. Sour pickles could never be made without me, and as for peach pickles, you might have all the cloves and cinnamon in the world in them, would they be at all if it were not for me? As for my looks, I can’t help them. We all have to look like we are, and even though I look and seem sour, at heart I am sweet because really I have to have sugar to make the mother.”

“Mother!” cried bashful Allspice. “Have you really a dear mother?”

“Oh, my dear, not that kind of a mother. It is just some thick stringy stuff that grows in Vinegar as it ferments and makes it ferment quicker. It is just called mother.

“That is all I know about me. Thank you for your kind attention.”

“You are very welcome,” said Cinnamon Stick. “You really did very well after all.