The injured man, maintaining an icy silence, raked him with an eye before which sergeant-majors had once drooped like withered roses, and walked into the shop. The anxious face of Chas. Bywater loomed up over the counter. John hovered in the background. "I want another bottle of that stuff," said the Colonel shortly.
"I'm awfully sorry," said John.
"I dropped the other outside. I was attacked by a savage dog."
"I'm frightfully sorry."
"People ought not to have these pests running loose and not under proper control."
"I'm fearfully sorry."
"A menace to the community and a nuisance to everybody," said Colonel Wyvern.
"Quite," said Mr. Bywater.
Conversation languished. Chas. Bywater, realizing that this was no moment for lingering lovingly over brown paper and toying dreamily with string, lowered the record for wrapping a bottle of Brophy's Paramount Elixir by such a margin that he set up a mark for other chemists to shoot at for all time. Colonel Wyvern snatched it and stalked out, and John, who had opened the door for him and had not been thanked, tottered back to the counter and in a low voice expressed a wish for two ounces of the Special Mixture.
"Quite," said Mr. Bywater. "In one moment, Mr. John."