THE TAKING DOWN OF DAVID ELSHENDER.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1424, 15 June 1899, Page 10

THE TAKING DOWN OF DAVID ELSHENDER.

Mr James Inglis tells a good story about a Scotch “bodie,” to whom he gives the name of “Davit Elshender” : —Davit was a voluble, pxausmle unreliable little humbug. He was greedy, mean, and unscrupulous in little things, and tried to assume a jaunty air of sociaiibility, which, however, was quite foreign to his real nature and sat ill upon him. His wife Meg, a great, gaunt, hollow-cheeked woman, with iron-grey corkscrew ringlets and projecting back teeth, was a fit consort for the tallow-faced Davit, who, doubtless, must have been a vicitm to dyspepsia. He was too mean to drink at his own expense, but his nose always had a fiery tip to it. His favourite attitude was to stand behind his counter with his two broad thumbs pressed thereon, fingers expended, black linen apron tucked up in his belt, and there, with a black velvet skull-cap covering his bald “ pow,” he would expiate in the most voluble way to any chance customer who anight be in the shop, and dogmatically

assert himself on every subject that came uppermost, be it philosophy, religion, politics, the price of “herrin’,” or the treatment of infantile ailments. It did not matter to Davit what topic came uppermost, he was competent to give a dogmatic opinion on anything “in the heavens above, the earth beneath, or the waters under the earth." He met his match one day, however, and it fell out this way. The tinkle of the little bell behind the door summoned him from the back shop one morning, and he at mice assumed his favourite attitude with thumb and fingers extended on the counter, and welcomed the intruder thus: —“Ay, ay ! and so that’s you yersel’, Mistress Paitterson ? Losh, but it’s a lang time sin’ I’ve seen ye. Ay, ay ! and fat’s brocht ye sae far roon the villabe th’ day, Mistress Paitterson?” For Davit well knew that he was no great favourite v'ith the quiet, demure farmer’s wife whom he was now accosting, and that she generally bestowed her patronage on one of his rivals farther up the street. The woman he addressed was a quiet,i decent, tidy body, with neat black mitt? on her hands, a well-fitting but muchworn beaded cloak over her simple gown, and a frayed, rusty silk bonnet on her head, which bore evident marks of having been turned many a time during the twenty years or so that it had been in wear. Mistress Paitterson was the wife of a small farmer “ower the wattcr,” and was a successful breeder of poultry and purveyor of eggs, as Davit well knew. As a matter of fact she was accustomed to sell her eggs to another of the storekeepers; but this week she had come rather late to market and found that her usual purchaser had bougut all he required. So in a very quiet, gentle way she told Davit that she had brought some eggs to sen. Davit at once started off at score. “ Ay, ay, an’ so ye’ve brocht yer eggs, have ye? Well, I will say this, Mistress Paitterson, that ye’ve aye the bonniest an’ bigges- eggs in a’ the pairis’; but ye see there’s a michty swash o’ eggs cornin’ into the market i’ •the noo, an’ the fac’ is, I’ll no be able tae gie mair nor tenpence a dizzen, an’ I’m sure they’re well worth mair.” Then, seeing a slight shade coming over the quiet little woman’s countenance, but having pretty well guessed the circumstances which led her to proffer 1..... her wares—knowing in fact that she was not likely to find a buyer elsewhere—and, wishing to snap up a bargain, he bolstered up his position with a totally unnecessary lie, saying: “Ye see, Mistress Paitterson, the supply is greater than the demand th’ noo, for we canna even sell eggs in Brechin; and so the mairchants liae haen a Conference”—lingering over this word with great unction—“and we’ve a’ agreed that we canna gie mair than tenpence a dizzen for eggs tli’ noo.” The good woman knew just enough of the circumstances of the local market to accept this offer, which as it happened was much under the real value of the eggs. So, with a sigh, she handed over the

heavy market-basket, with its clean, white cover, and Davit, with a smirk of satisfaction in his beady little porcine eyes, took the eggs into the back shop, came back and handed her the ten shillings for ten dozen. After an immaterial little purchase, the good lady took her departure, while Davit communicated to Meg that “he had just got some graund eggs frae -—-stress Paitterson at a considerable reduction oh the real marketprice.’ Now the little woman had not gone far before she met a neighbour, and on an exchange of notes she discovered that Davit had got the better of her, and that the other “mairchants” in fact were paying the usual price. r>y and by she came back to Davit’s shop, but with quite an unmoved countenance and the same self-restrained, quiet manner, she made another little purchase, and asked Davit if he would be pi’epared to take the same quantity of eggs next week. Davit’s heart leapt with in him, as he told her with much effusiveness he would be a regular* buyer for all she could bring; and again lamenting that the “conference of the mairchants” prevented him from giving a higher price for “sic bonuie eggs,” which indeed were the best in “a’ the pairis’,” he bade her good-day and the little woman departed. Now she had made up her mind to be “ even with Davit” ; so during the week she collected all the pigeon and-bantam eggs, and the smallest eggs from young pullets, that she could lay her hands on ; and having carefully packed them in sweet-scented hay, and covered the basket carefully over with the snowy cloth, she again sallied forth to take her satisfaction out

of him. No sooner had she entered the shop than she was greeted with the same volubility, and having in her quiet way parried the eager questionings of the rednosed grocer, she said : “ 1 suppose ye’re nae gie’in ony mair for the eggs this week, Mr Elshender?” “Weel, ye see, Mistress Paitterson, I hae tae abide by the deceesion o’ the Conference, altlio’ I’m no sayin’ but what yer eggs raelly deserve a shillin’ a. dizzen at the vera least, but I canna gie ye mair than the tenpence.” “Aweel,” says she, with a sigh, “I suppose I maun jist be daein’ wi’ what I can get in the meantime.” And then in an off-handed sort of way, she said, “There’s jist twal’ dizzen, Mr Elshender. That’ll be ten shillin’s; an’ as I want tae gang doon the village a bitty, ye can pay me i’ the noo, an’ I’ll leave the auld creel wi‘ ye, and ye can count the eggs at yer leisure. Davit, inwardly congratulating himself on another bargain, and never suspecting any trick, handed her the money, and she went her way. You can imagine the consternation of the thwarted rogue when he discovered the trick that had been played upon him. He fumed and raged and snorted, and poured the vials of his wrath upon his luckless shopboy, even venturing to say some sharp things to “lanternjawed” Meg, his wife ; but that was too dangerous a course to pursue at any great length, and so, fuming and fretting, he watched for the re-appearance of “Mistress Paitterson.” That decent, quiet body, still with a demure look and unmoved countenance, at length made her appearance. At once Davit opened out in indignant protestation. “What sort o’ a trick is this ye’ve played on me, Mistress Paitterson? Thae’s only doos and bantams’ eggs ye’ve brocht me this week. Losh bless me, eggs like thae’s no worth saxpence a dizzen ! Ye sharply canna be meanin’ tae tak’ guid siller for eggs like thae?” To this outburst the sly little woman quietly responded : bat’s the maittcr wi’ the eggs, Maister Elshender? The eggs are a’ richt.” “Toots, haivers, wumman ! snorted the enraged shopkeeper: “I’m tollin’ ye thae’s naethin’ but doos’ eggs.” A gleam of suppressed glee sparkled in the eyes of the quiet, self-contained little woman, as, slowly taking up her basket and cloth, she dropped a semi-curtsey and said : “Weel, ye see, Maister Elshender, the fac is that oor liens hae haen their Conference i’ the back yaird ; and they jist made up tlieir minds that it wisna worth their while tae rax themsel’s for eggs at tenpence a dizzen.”—“Scottish Life and Character,” by Wm. Sinclair.