“What do you want at this time of night?”
“Got a telegram fur you, boss.”
“Oh, that’s it? Well, it’s not very important, I guess. I’ll read it when I get up in the morning. Just shove it under the door.”
There was a pause. Then, in a voice made sharp by the fear of losing a tip, the darky spoke:
“I can’t—hit’s on a plate!”
§ 300 A Reduction for Cash
Any Scot will tell you that, while as a race the Scotch are thrifty, it is in Aberdeen that thrift becomes an exact science.
And it was in Aberdeen, so the story runs, that an especially frugal citizen entered an apothecary’s shop or, as we would say in America, a drug store. He told the proprietor that he wished to purchase three-pence worth of morphine.
The chemist pondered over a request so unusual. Customarily he sold the drug only on a physician’s prescription; but this customer was known to him as reputable and responsible. Nevertheless, he must make sure the purpose was proper.
“Thr-pence worth of morphine, eh?” he said. “What would ye be wantin’ it for?”