"
Upon a holiday morning, several weeks later, Penrod and Sam
Williams revived a pastime that they called "drug store", setting
up display counters, selling chemical, cosmetic and other
compounds to imaginary customers, filling prescriptions and
variously conducting themselves in a pharmaceutical manner. They
were in the midst of affairs when Penrod interrupted his partner
and himself with a cry of recollection.
"_I_ know!" he shouted. "I got some mighty good ole stuff we
want. You wait!" And, dashing to the house, he disappeared.
Returning immediately, Penrod placed upon the principal counter
of the "drug store" a large bottle. It was a quart bottle, in
fact; and it contained what appeared to be a section of grassy
swamp immersed in a cloudy brown liquor.
"There!" Penrod exclaimed. "How's that for some good ole
medicine?"
"It's good ole stuff," Sam said approvingly. "Where'd you get it?
Whose is it, Penrod?"
"It WAS mine," said Penrod. "Up to about serreval days ago, it
was. They quit givin' it to me. I had to take two bottles and a
half of it."
"What did you haf to take it for?"
"I got nervous, or sumpthing," said Penrod.
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