Keep him quiet, ma'am.

Good day! Look in to-morrow-nine o'clock.
Put a little lint with the lotion on the head, ma'am.

Mrs.Morton! Ah! bad job that." Here the apothecary had shuffled himself off to the street door, when Arthur laid his hand on his arm.
"Mrs.Morton! Did you say Morton, sir?
What kind of a person--is she very ill ?" "Hopeless case, sir--general break-up.

Nice woman--quite the lady--known better days, I'm sure." "Has she any children--sons ?" "Two--both away now--fine lads--quite wrapped up in them--youngest especially." "Good heavens! it must be she--ill, and dying, and destitute, perhaps,"-- exclaimed Arthur, with real and deep feeling; "I will go with you, sir.

I fancy that I know this lady--that," he added generously, "I am related to her." "Do you ?--glad to hear it.