Above this were the four "Intellectual Levels," on one of which I, as a chemist had my abode.
"Tell the man to drive to a chemist's," he said to Mrs. Vansittart.
"I have heard of no explosion," replied the chemist, evidently bewildered.
His lordship had emerged from the chemist's across the street.
Now he was dreeing his weird, with such assistance as the chemist could afford.
The drug-store—it was a "chemist's shop" of course—was at the corner.
It was the chemist's telephone that I had used when I called the doctor.
I was standing at the door of a chemist's shop when the cavalry rode by at a walk.
He married the only daughter of a chemist who lived in Cambridge.
You can see how much shorter the chemist's way of writing it is.