"Baby four months old," replied the messenger.
"You bin 'ere afore about your baby?" inquired the 'Pothecary.
"Mother's name, I mean," explained Wilfered.
"Mrs. Bates, Mulberry Street," said Mrs. Bates's emissary.
And Wilfered repeated his formula: "Tell yere mother as we'll _give_ 'er the powder this once, but nex' time you must send to the chimmis. We don't sell powders yere."
Mrs. Bates's daughter, having received her powder, and being as yet without a proper understanding, deposited the penny with which she had been entrusted upon the ledge of Wilfered's peep-hole, and bolted from the waiting-room.
Wilfered gazed upon this coin with an air of indecision. Finally, he picked it up (between a finger and thumb) and flung it into the till. His actions said plainer than words that he possessed a professional sentiment which was outraged at the thought of accepting this tainted money.
And then--for events move quickly in Bovingdon Street--who should come bouncing in again but the big girl whom he had previously dismissed--she of the immovable smile.
"Penny soothin' powder for a baby eight months owld," said the big girl.
Wilfered was at first unable to speak; but when he did so, it was with point and emphasis.
"I suppose," he said, with scorn, at the end of his address, "as you kin understand plain English? We _down't sell powders_. And if we did, we couldn't sell 'em for a penny. These powders cost _us_ frippence. Did ye tell yere mother that?"
"Yus," responded the girl, "but mother says she can't 'elp _your_ troubles."
Wilfered held on to the pill-tub and looked wildly about him. Then, with a deep-drawn sigh, he held out a powder and took the penny.
"What is the use o' arguin?" he demanded of your servant. "Look what you got to contend against."
Baffin came bouncing in one morning and bounced me off the gas-stove.
His hair was ruffled and his face was flushed and his eyes were flashing sparks.
"My God!" he cried. "I--I've made a weird, a wild, a terrible discovery. Good God, who would have thought it! That child, mind you, that imbecile. 'God, sir, if this were a humane and Christian country, I should be allowed to call the damned beast out and carve patterns on him."
"Prudence--Prudence," responded Baffin, with agitation. "She HAS TOLD ME ALL. Come in and see her."