I'll screw some out of old bottles here." "And now," said Tom Thurnall to himself, as Frank left the room, "to begin life again with an old penknife and a pound of honeydew.

I wonder which of them got my girdle.

I'll stick here till I find out that one thing, and stop the notes by to-day's post if I can but recollect them all;--if I could but stop the nugget, too!" So saying, he walked down into the surgery, and looked round.
Everything was in confusion.

Cobwebs were over the bottles, and armies of mites played at bo-peep behind them.

He tried a few drawers, and found that they stuck fast; and when he at last opened one, its contents were two old dried-up horse-balls, and a dirty tobacco-pipe.
He took down a jar marked Epsom salts, and found it full of Welsh snuff; the next, which was labelled cinnamon, contained blue vitriol.
The spatula and pill-roller were crusted with deposits of every hue.
The pill-box drawer had not a dozen whole boxes in it; and the counter was a quarter of an inch deep in deposit of every vegetable and mineral matter, including ends of string, tobacco ashes, and broken glass.
Tom took up a dirty duster, and set to work coolly to clear up, whistling away so merrily that he brought in Heale.
"I'm doing a little in the way of business, you see." "Then you really are a professional practitioner, sir, as Mr.Headley informs me: though, of course, I don't doubt the fact ?" said Heale, summoning up all the little courage he had, to ask the question with.
"F.R.C.S.