But, you see, he being the guvnor's
nephew and all that (and it will be in the papers too), it doesn't matter
how they electrify things in this house. Are you going to watch?"
"Very much. I've never seen this game. Aren't you going to bed?"
"We don't close till ten on Saturdays. There's a good deal of influenza in
town, too, and there'll be a dozen prescriptions coming in before morning.
I generally sleep in the chair here. It's warmer than jumping out of bed
every time. Bitter cold, isn't it?"
"Freezing hard. I'm sorry your cough's worse."
"Thank you. I don't mind cold so much. It's this wind that fair cuts me to
pieces." He coughed again hard and hackingly, as an old lady came in for
ammoniated quinine. "We've just run out of it in bottles, madam," said Mr.
Shaynor, returning to the professional tone, "but if you will wait two
minutes, I'll make it up for you, madam."
I had used the shop for some time, and my acquaintance with the proprietor
had ripened into friendship. It was Mr. Cashell who revealed to me the
purpose and power of Apothecaries' Hall what time a fellow-chemist had
made an error in a prescription of mine, had lied to cover his sloth, and
when error and lie were brought home to him had written vain letters.
"A disgrace to our profession," said the thin, mild-eyed man, hotly, after
studying the evidence. "You couldn't do a better service to the profession
than report him to Apothecaries' Hall.
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