Mr. Samuel Copperdock had from the first taken a great fancy to old Ludgrove, as he called him. When the name had first appeared over the shop, which had stood empty for years, almost opposite his own premises, he had been intrigued at once. Curiosity—or perhaps it was not mere vulgar curiosity, but a thirst for information—was one of Sam Copperdock’s chief characteristics. He must have been one of Mr. Ludgrove’s first customers, if not the very first, for on the very day the herbalist’s shop was opened he had walked across the road, pushed open the door, and thumped upon the counter. He stared quite frankly at Mr. Ludgrove as the latter came into the shop, and opened the conversation without delay. “Look here, you sell medicines, don’t you?” he inquired briskly. Mr. Ludgrove smiled, and with a slight gesture seemed to indicate the long rows of drawers behind the counter. “Yes, if you like to call them such,” he replied gently. “What particular medicine do you require?” “Well, I’m terrible troubled with rheumatics,” said Mr. Copperdock. “Mind, I don’t hold with any of them quack mixtures, but I thought I’d just step across and see if you had anything that was any good.” Mr. Ludgrove smiled. Certainly Mr. Copperdock, short, red-faced, and inclined to stoutness, looked the picture of health. “Rheumatism, eh?” he remarked. “How long have you suffered from it?” Mr. Copperdock laughed. There was something disarming in the attitude of this herbalist fellow. Besides, deception in any form was not Mr. Copperdock’s strong suit. “Well, to tell the truth, I don’t worry much about them rheumatics,” he replied. “I came across neighbour-like, mainly to see what sort of a place you’ve got here.” “I’m sure you’re very welcome,” replied Mr. Ludgrove courteously. The two men leant on the opposite sides of the counter, chatting for a while. At last Mr. Copperdock straightened himself up, half reluctantly. “Well, I must get back to business, I suppose,” he said. “Look here, how serious were you about that rheumatism?” interposed Mr. Ludgrove. “Do you ever feel any twinges of it?” “Oh, sometimes,” replied Mr. Copperdock nonchalantly. “Can’t say as it worries me much, though.” “If you take my advice, you’ll stop it before it gets worse,” said Mr. Ludgrove, opening a drawer and taking from it a scoopful of some parched-looking seeds. “If you put a teaspoonful of these into half a tumbler of boiling water, and drink the liquid twice a day after meals, you won’t have any further trouble.” He had poured the seeds into a paper bag as he spoke, and handed them across to Mr. Copperdock. “How much?” asked the latter rather awkwardly, putting his hand in his trouser pocket. But Mr. Ludgrove waved him away. “Try them first, my dear sir,” he said. “Then, if you find they do you good and you want some more, we’ll talk about payment.”