II. The Druggist
“Good morning, Mr. Jones,” he said breathlessly as he entered the store. “Baby is very ill, and mother wishes this prescription filled. She told me to ask if you would please send the medicine over just as soon as possible.”
“Baby sick? How sorry I am, Wallace,” said Mr. Jones. “Of course we will send it soon. I will see to it at once.”
“Oh, thank you.” Wallace drew a sigh of relief. “How much will it be, please?”
The druggist examined the queer Latin words of the doctor’s prescription. “This calls for one very expensive medicine, Wallace,” he said; “so we shall have to charge seventy-five cents.”
“That will be all right,” said Wallace.
When he reached home Ruth had a nice lunch spread for him.
“I am not going to school this afternoon, Wallace,” she told him. “I’m going to tidy up the house, and help mother.”
“Look at the clock, Ruth!” exclaimed Wallace suddenly, “I must start right away—the medicine will be seventy-five cents.”
“I will have the money ready,” said Ruth. “Good-by.”
The druggist’s boy came with the medicine a few minutes after Wallace left, and the baby was given the first dose at once.
When their father came the children had supper ready, but no one ate much.
“I am glad you can be so helpful, children,” he said.