The man was in a brown study when he went into the drug store.

"What can we do for you?" inquired the clerk.

"I want black-- something of something," he said; "have you got any?"

"Probably we have," replied the clerk, "but you'll have to be more
definite than that to get it."

The farmer thought for a moment.

"Got any black sheepskin of something?" he asked.

"No; we don't keep sheepskins. We have chamois-skins, though."

"That ain't it, I know," said the customer. "Got any other kind of
skins?"

"No."

"Skins-- skins-- skins!" slowly repeated the man, struggling with his
slippery memory. "Calfskin seems to be something like it. Got any
black calfskins of anything?"

"No, not one," and the clerk laughed.

The customer grew red in the face.

"Confound it!" he said, "if it ain't a skin, what in thunder is it?"