|
A
VENDOR
of buttons, buckles, pins, and other small wares, or,
as our American friends would phrase it, who kept a variety store, in a
small shop at the head of the Saltmarket, which has been rendered world
famous as the abode of Bailie Nicol Jarvie, one day observed a country
loot standing at his window, with an undecided wanting-to-buy expression
on his face. At last he screwed up his courage to the buying point,
entered the shop, and inquired at its owner for something he did not
happen to keep, the question being:
"Ha’e ye ony pistols to sell
?"
The shopman, who had long studied,
and was an adept at the counter logic, or art of getting a costumer to buy
what may be on hand for sale rather than what the customer asks for, thus
responded to the question:
"Man, what would be the use o’ a
pistol to you ?—You wad just shoot yoursel’, or maybe some ither body w’it!
You should rather buy a flute; see there’s ane, an’ it’s no sae dear as a
pistol; just stop and open finger about they sax wee holes, and blaw in at
the big ane, an’ ye can ha’e ony tune ye like after a wee while’s
practice. Besides ye’ll maybe blaw a tune into the heart o’ some blythe
bonny lassie, that will bring to you the warth o’ a thousand pistols or
German flutes either."
"Man," said the simple, good-natured
customer, "I’m glad that I’ve met wi’ you the day—just tie it up;" and
paying down the price asked, he bade the shopkeeper good-day, with a
significant nod of the head, remarking:
"It wilt no be my fault if ye getna
a chance o’ riding the broost at my weddin’, since ye ha’e set me on the
way to be my ain piper." |
