No; the medicine bottle was the only safe thing.
I had taken several bottles, and was told that I was looking better, when I went, one day, to have my prescription renewed.

It was just after a hard rain, and the pools on the broken pavements were full of blue sky.

I was delighted with the beautiful reflections; there were even the white clouds moving across the blue, there, at my feet, on the pavement! I walked with my head down all the way to the drug store, which was all right; but I should not have done it going back, with the new bottle of medicine in my hand.
In front of a cigar store, halfway between Washington Street and Harrison Avenue, stood a wooden Indian with a package of wooden cigars in his hand.

My eyes on the shining rain pools, I walked plump into the Indian, and the bottle was knocked out of my hand and broke with a crash.
I was horrified at the catastrophe.

The medicine cost fifty cents.