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Weekly Contest #257
On a humid day in northern Italy, Wold sat in his shop, calling out to passerby. His apprentice, Hornberg, meticulously organized the potions on his shelves, polishing them with a handkerchief and spit and sorting them by size. The shop was a small room, separated from the outside street by a small counter. From behind the counter, Wold cried out to every man, woman, and child who walked by, rich or poor, and attributed his commercial success to this tactic. Many came to Wold’s shop, seeking medicines and potions. He was known as a trustwort...
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