"
I did so, not knowing what djinns I should evoke; and the result was such
an apology as one might make who had spent a night on the rack. I
conceived great respect for Apothecaries' Hall, and esteem for Mr.
Cashell, a zealous craftsman who magnified his calling. Until Mr. Shaynor
came down from the North his assistants had by no means agreed with Mr.
Cashell. "They forget," said he, "that, first and foremost, the compounder
is a medicine-man. On him depends the physician's reputation. He holds it
literally in the hollow of his hand, Sir."
Mr. Shaynor's manners had not, perhaps, the polish of the grocery and
Italian warehouse next door, but he knew and loved his dispensary work in
every detail. For relaxation he seemed to go no farther afield than the
romance of drugs--their discovery, preparation packing, and export--but it
led him to the ends of the earth, and on this subject, and the
Pharmaceutical Formulary, and Nicholas Culpepper, most confident of
physicians, we met.
Little by little I grew to know something of his beginnings and his hopes
--of his mother, who had been a school-teacher in one of the northern
counties, and of his red-headed father, a small job-master at Kirby Moors,
who died when he was a child; of the examinations he had passed and of
their exceeding and increasing difficulty; of his dreams of a shop in
London; of his hate for the price-cutting Co-operative stores; and, most
interesting, of his mental attitude towards customers.
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