A Shopman's Terror.

Otago Witness, Issue 2356, 20 April 1899, Page 62

A Shopman's Terror.

She was dressed in black; wore a poke bonnet, and generally set fashion at defiance. She was short, stout, had red hands, a brown face, and a pair of feet whose tread shook the shop as she marched up to the counter. "I'm wanting a goun," she said in a rasping voice, which shook uut every word like a bullet. '* Yes, madam. Take a " "Yes, what, ye impident jumpin' jeck ! Madam ! Sirs, but I'll madam the lang chafts o' ye wi' my 'breily if ye try to tak' your trap aft mo that gait. Do I look like a madame, ye whey-faced whalp?" The shopman looked scared, and small blame to him. Then he hastened to explain. " I meant no offence — none whatever," he said. "It is simply a form of address which we use to all customers."

"Is it? Weel, dinna send it this sirt again, young man. My name is Kirsty Saunclers — and if we're no' to cast oot yell mm' that. Noo let me see some stuff for a goun — black merino."

"Won't you sit down?" reaching over to place a chair. " Dinna fash yourscl' about my doon-sittin' I will soon seek a chair when I want. ane. You get that merino, and look nebby aboot it."

The salesman did not further argue the matter, but at once obeyed— and that all the more readily because he observed the shopwalker approaching them. Presently that individual thought he saw something wrong, and came up in his stateliest manner. '• Mr Bell," ho called out in his best taskmaster voice; " why don't you give this lady a ohair?"

Before Mr Bell could answer the lady had turned, and was glowering at the newcomer. " Wha askit you to put in your tongue?" she demanded.

It takes a good deal to confuse a shopwalker ; but that did it. The autocrat of the floor reddened up to the back of his neck. "I — cr — cr — cr — ar — I" he stammered. " Dinna stand there gnashin' as if ye were tongue tackit, went on this fearsome old woman. " Awa' and wash the stoor oot'n your een, so's ye'se ken a ledy when ye see ane.". " But, madam " " Awa' aboot your business, ye doiterin' auld eddyit, and tak' your leddies and madams alang wi' ye. You and your chairs. Can tho lad an' me no settle the thing oorsels athoot you rammin your whiskifeed nose intilt, tell me? If "

The shop-walkev clutched at the counter to support himself, then turned and made off, with the fear of death on him. It was not till he reached the farthest recesses of the shop that ho was able to think — and then he had to sit down to it.

Meanwhile the salesman was on the highroad for another mistake. The signal defeat which his enemy the shopwalker had sustained had refreshed him greatly, and with returning confidence came the desire to offer advico.

"They are all good value; extra value, indeed, for the money," he paid, with a comprehensive wave of his hand towards a dozen pieces of cloth littering the counter ; " but this," making a grab at one, "is tho very thing for you." His hearer looked up from the pile of cloth and fixed him with a baleful eye.

" Is this goun gaun on your back or mine?" she asked. " Because if it is for me I'll settle what's best or warst aboot it athoot your help, I'se warrant ye." '* Yes, yes — of course — certainly so, but "—" — " There is neither a but nor a ben aboot it ; just keep your spurtle oot o' my kail — that'? what's aboot if. When I'm thinkin' o' gettin' a pair o' breeks made I'll speer your advice, no afore. What's the price o' this ane?"

She had spoken so loud that the eyes of a, dozen shopmen and twice as many customers were on them by this time. What was worse the proprietor of the shop had been drawn from his private room by the sound of her voice, and was now approaching with a porter tcus face. Tho wretched salesman tried to smile and look unconcerned, but his voice shook as he answered her questions. " What's the matter?" asked the proprietor. "What's the matter with what?" she snapped, turning on the surprised questioner. " The matter wi' you seems to be that ye canna mm' your business ; either that or ye've been drinkin'."

" Good " began the scandalised shopkeeper, then stopped, his face turning purple. " Ay, it's quid ; truth's aye good, tho' it's whiles gcylies ill to swallow, Maister Muckle Kyte. Aw a' wi' ye and hign the pledge; it will set ye better than staunin 1 there bletherin'. Cut-.ofE twal yards o' this, young man." It was cut off, and ten minutes afterwards she marched out of the shop with it. As fche went throe ir.en wiped their clammy foreheads and said : " Well, of all the— ay, imphm !"