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Inwardly furious, he crossed the shop. 'Be so good as to tell me what this will cost by book-post. It seemed to be a pamphlet. Giving a glance at one of the open ends, Mr. Farmiloe saw handwriting within, and his hostility to the woman found vent in a sharp remark. 'There's a written communication in this. It will be letter rate. The lady eyed him with terrible scorn.
The most frequent visitor to the post-office was a well-dressed, middle-aged man, who spoke civilly, and did his business in the fewest possible words. Mr. Farmiloe rather liked the look of him, and once or twice made conversational overtures, but with no encouraging result. One day, feeling bolder than usual the chemist ventured to speak what he had in mind.
Invariably he betrayed impatience, and occasionally he lost his temper; people went away exclaiming what a horrid man he was! 'Mr. What's-your-name, said a shopkeeper one day, after receiving a short answer, 'I shall make it my business to complain of you to the Postmaster-General. I don't come here to be insulted. 'Who insulted you? returned Farmiloe like a sullen schoolboy. 'Why, you did.
Of course, he had hired an errand-boy, and never had errand-boy so little legitimate occupation. Resolved not to pay him for nothing, Mr. Farmiloe kept him cleaning windows, washing bottles, and the like, until the lad fairly broke into rebellion.
I do it merely to oblige civil persons, and you, madam, are not one of them. The lady instantly turned and withdrew. 'Damn the post-office! yelled Mr. Farmiloe, alone with his errand-boy, and shaking his fist in the air. 'This very day I write to give it up. I say damn the post-office.
Farmiloe remembered the other aspect of the matter; he would benefit so largely by this ill-paid undertaking that grumbling was foolish. Moreover, the thing carried dignity with it; he served his Majesty, he served the nation. And ha, ha! how very odd it would be to post one's letters in one's own post-office. One might really get a good deal of amusement out of the thought, after business hours.
Daffy, sorry we can't travel down together. You'll catch the eight o'clock. 'I hope you told him plainly what you thought of him, said Mr. Daffy, in a voice of indignant shame. 'I did, answered the timber-merchant, 'and I don't think he's very likely to forget it. 'Farmiloe. Chemist by Examination. So did the good man proclaim himself to a suburb of a city in the West of England.
There entered a maidservant with a prescription to be made up and sent as soon as possible. A glance at the name delighted Mr. Farmiloe; it was that of the richest family in the suburbs. The medicine, to be sure, was only for a governess, but his existence was recognised, and the patronage of such people would do him good. But for the never-sufficiently-to-be-condemned handwriting of Dr.
There followed a law-suit, which consumed many months and cost a good deal of money; so that, though he won his case, Mr. Farmiloe lost all satisfaction in his improved circumstances, and was only more embittered against the world at large. Then, no sooner had he purchased his business, than he learnt from smiling neighbours that he had paid considerably too much for it.
Farmiloe would have brought a wife with him from the town where he had lived for the past few years, but he was in the difficult position of knowing not a single marriageable female to whom he could address himself with hope or with self-respect.
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