“Why, yes, there is, Wallace. You may take this pre-scrip-tion to the drug store to be filled. Ask the druggist to send the medicine over as soon as possible.”
Just then the baby gave a pitiful little moan, which made the mother turn again to the crib. The children stole softly downstairs.
“I’ll run right over to the drug store, Ruth,” Wallace said, forgetting his own lunch.
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.