The Inkwell (TM) advertisement caught his eye one day after he had emerged from his form teacher's room with red ears and flushed cheeks. It was lying innocuously on the floor beside his bag, as if someone had dropped it on their way out.
IF YOU WANT TO INK WELL, USE INKWELL(TM) it yelled at him from off the glossy paper. Guaranteed to make your handwriting readable, it whispered in neat letters. What would it hurt? The only thing they could blame him for was getting outside help.
As soon as he reached home, he dialed the number listed on the brochure.
"welcome to inkwell! The only way to write well!" a cheery voice greeted him. "How can I help you?"
"I'd like to buy..."
"Of course! Why else would you be calling, right? Silly me."
"How much is it?" he asked. "Only I don't have a lot of money."
"Hmm, let me see. Could you open your latest homework?"
He thought it was a strange request but did so anyway. "How will you-"
"My, your handwriting is terrible! Tell you what- this first package will be on the house."
"What do you-"
"Hey, how did you..." but the line had cut off and all he heard was the dial tone.
He had just put the receiver down when he noticed a little small bottle filled with ink on the table beside his homework.