"Yes, sir," replied Timothy, very respectfully.
I took one of the measures, and putting in a little green, a little blue, and a little white liquid from the medicine bottles generally used by Mr Brookes, filled it up with water, poured the mixture into the vial, corked, and labelled it, haustus statim sumendus, and handed it over the counter to the old woman.
"Is the poor child to take it, or is it to rub outside?" inquired the old woman.
"The directions are on the label;—but you don't read Latin?"
"Deary me, no! Latin! and do you understand Latin? What a nice clever boy!"
"I should not be a good doctor if I did not," replied I. On second thoughts, I considered it advisable and safer, that the application should be external, so I translated the label to her—Haustus, rub it in—statim, on the throat—sumendus, with the palm of the hand.
"Deary me! and does it mean all that? How much have I to pay, sir?"
"Embrocation is a very dear medicine, my good woman; it ought to be eighteen-pence, but as you are a poor woman, I shall only charge you nine-pence."
"I'm sure I thank you kindly," replied the old woman, putting down the money, and wishing me a good morning as she left the shop.
"Bravo!" cried Timothy, rubbing his hands; "it's halves, Japhet, is it not?"