"I don't mix up the medicines, ma'am," replied Timothy; "you must apply to that gentleman, Mr Newland, who is behind the counter--he understands what is good for everybody's complaints." "Bless his handsome face--and so young too! Why, be you a doctor, sir?" "I should hope so," replied I; "what is it you require--a lotion, or an embrocation?" "I don't understand those hard words, but I want some doctor's stuff." "Very well, my good woman; I know what is proper," replied I, assuming an important air. "Here, Timothy, wash out this vial very clean." "Yes, sir," replied Timothy, very respectfully. I took one of the measures, and putting in a little green, a little blue, and a little white liquid from the medicine bottles generally used by Mr Brookes, filled it up with water, poured the mixture into the vial, corked and labelled it, _haustus statim sumendus_, and handed it over the counter to the old woman. "Is the poor child to take it, or is it to rub outside?" inquired the old woman. "The directions are on the label;--but you don't read Latin?" "Deary me, no! Latin! and do you understand Latin? what a nice clever boy!" "I should not be a good doctor if I did not," replied I. "On second thoughts, I consider it advisable and safer, that the application should be _external_, so I translated the label to her--_Haustus_, rub it in--_statim_, on the throat--_sumendus_, with the palm of the hand." "Deary me! and does it mean all that? How much have I to pay, sir?" "Embrocation is a very dear medicine, my good woman; it ought to be eighteen-pence, but as you are a poor woman, I shall only charge you nine-pence." "I'm sure I thank you kindly," replied the old woman, putting down the money, and wishing me a good morning as she left the shop. "Bravo!" cried Timothy, rubbing his hands; "it's halves, Japhet, is it not?" "Yes," I replied; "but first we must be honest, and not cheat Mr Cophagus; the vial is sold, you know, for one penny, and I suppose the stuff I have taken is not worth a penny more. Now, if we put aside two-pence for Mr Cophagus, we don't cheat him, or steal his property; the other seven-pence is of course our own--being the _profits of the profession_." "But how shall we account for receiving the two-pence?" said Timothy. "Selling two vials instead of one: they are never reckoned, you know." "That will do capitally," cried Timothy; "and now for halves." But this could not be managed until Timothy had run out and changed the sixpence; we then each had our three-pence halfpenny, and for once in our lives could say that we had money in our pockets. PART ONE, CHAPTER THREE. I PERFORM A WONDERFUL CURE UPON SAINT JOHN LONG'S PRINCIPLE, HAVING LITTLE OR NO PRINCIPLE OF MY OWN--I BEGIN TO PUZZLE MY HEAD WITH A PROBLEM, OF ALL OTHERS MOST DIFFICULT TO SOLVE.