e drugstore was! I was fascinated by the
rows and rows of gleaming bottles labelled with mysterious Latin
abbreviations. There were cases of patent remedies--Mexican Mustang
Liniment, Swamp Root, Danderine, Conway's Cobalt Pills, Father Finch's
Febrifuge, Spencer's Spanish Specific. Soap, talcum, cold cream,
marshmallows, tobacco, jars of rock candy, what a medley of
paternostrums! And old Rhubarb himself, in his enormous baggy
trousers--infinite breeches in a little room, as Julia used to say.

I wish I could set him down in all his rich human flavour. The first
impression he gave was one of cleanness and good humour. He was always
in shirtsleeves, with suspenders forming an X across his broad back;
his shirt was fresh laundered, his glowing beard served as cravat. He
had a slow, rather ponderous speech, with deep gurgling gutturals and a
decrescendo laugh, slipping farther and farther down into his larynx.
Once, when we got to know each other fairly well, I ventured some
harmless jest about Barbarossa. He chuckled; then his face grew grave.
"I wish Minna could have the beard," he said. "Her chest is not strong.
It would be a fine breast-protector for her. But me, because I am strong
like a horse, I have it all!" He thumped his chest ruefully with his
broad, thick hand.

Despite his thirty years in America, good Schulz was still the Deutsche
Apotheker and not at all the American druggist. He had installed a soda
fountain as a concession, but it puzzled him sorely, and if he was asked
for anything more complex than chocolate ice cream soda he would shake
his head solemnly and say: "That I have not got." Motorists sometimes
turned off the Jericho turnpike and stopped at his shop asking for
banana splits or grape juice highballs, or frosted pineapple fizz. But
they had to take chocolate ice cream soda or nothing. Sometimes in a fit
of absent-mindedness he would turn his taps too hard and the charged
water would spout across the imitation marble counter. He would wag his
beard deprecatingly and mutter a shamefaced apology, smiling again when
the little black dachshund came trotting to sniff at the spilt soda and
rasp the wet floor with her bright tongue.

At the end of September he shut up the soda fountain gladly, piling it
high with bars of castile soap or cartons of cod liver oil. Then Minna
entered into her glory as the dispenser of hot chocolate which seethed
and sang in a tall silvery tank with a blue gas burner un