he neighbourhood seemed to breathe a tranquil
prosperity. Red-cheeked emissaries of butcher, baker, and grocer,
order-book in hand, knocked cheerily at kitchen doors, and went smiling
away; the ponies they drove were well fed and frisky, their carts spick and
span. The church of the parish, an imposing edifice, dated only from a few
years ago, and had cost its noble founder a sum of money which any
church-going parishioner would have named to you with proper awe. The
population was largely female, and every shopkeeper who knew his business
had become proficient in bowing, smiling, and suave servility.

Mr. Farmiloe, it is to be feared, had no very profound acquaintance with
his business from any point of view. True, he was 'chemist by examination,'
but it had cost him repeated efforts to reach this unassailable ground and
more than one pharmaceutist with whom he abode as assistant had felt it a
measure of prudence to dispense with his services. Give him time, and he
was generally equal to the demands of suburban customers; hurry or
interrupt him, and he showed himself anything but the man for a crisis.
Face and demeanour were against him. He had exceedingly plain features, and
a persistently sour expression; even his smile suggested sarcasm. He could
not tune his voice to the tradesman note, and on the slightest provocation
he became, quite unintentionally, offensive. Such a man had no chance
whatever in this flowery and bowery little suburb.

Yet he came hither with hopes. One circumstance seemed to him especially
favourable: the shop was also a post-office, and no one could fail to see
(it was put most impressively by the predecessor who sold him the business)
how advantageous was this blending of public service with commercial
interest; especially as there was no telegraphic work to make a skilled
assistant necessary. As a matter of course, people using the post-office
would patronise the chemist; and a provincial chemist can add to his
legitimate business sundry pleasant little tradings which benefit himself
without provoking the jealousy of neighbour shopmen. 'It will be your own
fault, my dear sir, if you do not make a very good thing of it indeed. The
sole and sufficient explanation of--of the decline during this last year or
two is my shocking health. I really have _not_ been able to do justice to
the business.'

Necessarily, Mr. Farmiloe entered into negotiation with the postal
authorities; and it was with som