Mistress Trout, “I’ll have no trading with you. I have no time to haggle, and no use for your goods.”

And with that she whisked angularly from the room, leaving the newcomer in a broad grin.

“Now,” declared he with great gusto, “is not that like a woman in every way? ‘I have no use for your goods,’ says she—and never a sight has she of what I have to offer.”

This speech he directed at George, who nodded good-naturedly; the man then put his great thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat and proceeded:

“But women folk are ever hard to trade with, sir; thirty years have I ridden these roads with a pack before me, and that is one of the things which I have learned. They have no judgment; caprice rules them; they’ll bargain for hours over a staple article[106] of known value, and then squander their shilling without a word on trash.”

[106]

“You are harsh, I think, sir,” said George.

“Sir,” returned the peddler, “that I am not. I know them. Thirty years on the road has taught me something.” Here he approached the fire. “By your leave, sir,” said he to the lieutenant, and sat down upon an end of the settle. The lieutenant nodded curtly and gave him little direct attention. But out of the tail of his eye he observed the peddler narrowly, as George did not fail to observe.

The stranger crossed his thick, bowed legs and held his hands out to the fire with much satisfaction.

“There is still a tang in the air,” said he. “Winter is not quite gone, even yet.”

“No,” returned George, “and further north, it is colder still.”

The saying was entirely unpremeditated; but instantly he realized that it bore an apparent significance, for the peddler shot him a glance of surprise, and then coughed in a warning way behind his hand. Then, as though to cover an awkward happening,[107] the man thrust a thumb and forefinger into his waistcoat pocket and produced a massive watch. Holding it up that George might have a good view of it, he said:

[107]

“There is a rare sight for you; I dare venture to say you don’t often see its like. The king puts no finer gold in his guineas, and the cogs and springs and balances are miracles of art.”

 Prev. P 49/155 next