'Now for the draper's, and then the chemist's,' said our friend. From the former—a Scot, like himself—he bought a pile of goods of the better sort, but from their appearance all warranted to wear a hundred years.
His visit to the druggist was of brief duration.
'Is my medicine chest filled?'
'Yes, sir, all according to your orders.'
'Thanks; send it, and send the bill.'
'Never mind about the bill, Mr. Moncrieff. You'll be down here again.'
'Send the bill, all the same. And I say, Mr. Squills—'
'Yes, sir.'
'Don't forget to deduct the discount.'
But Moncrieff's shopping was not quite all over yet, and the last place he went to was a gunsmith's shop.