AT A CATTLE MARKET
An Autumn Reminiscence
Scene—A large open space near a cathedral town. Fat old farmers in white hats, and smart young farmers in Newmarket coats and neat riding boots; elderly shepherds in blue, grey, and white smocks. From time to time there is a stampede of bewildered bullocks, whose hind legs are continually getting hitched over each other's horns. Connoisseurs lean over pen-rails and examine pigs reverently, as if they were Old Masters. Others prod them perfunctorily. The pigs bear these inconveniences meekly, as part of the penalty of greatness. Sheep look over one another's shoulders and chew nervously on one side of their mouths.
By the Pig-Pens
First Enthusiast. Did y' iver see sech a sow as that theer? I niver did, and (aggressively) naw moor yo' didn't neither, 'Enery, did ye now?
'Enery (unimpressed). I doan't see naw 'dvantage in heving pigs so big as that theer.
First Enth. Big! She's like a elephant. Theer's a lop ear now—weighs thutty-four stoan if she weighs a hounce, she do!
[The sow grunts complacently.
'Enery. Ah. I 'ad one loike 'er, I 'ad. Eat three bucketsful a day, she did, and (with a sense of unforgettable injury) mis'able little pegs she 'ad with it all!
Second Enth. I go in fur Berkshire myself But Sussex are very good; they scale so much better 'n they look; full o' flesh they are—weigh a good stun moor nor ye'd take 'em fur, and then they cut up so well! (With a dreamy tenderness.) Yes, I'm fond o' they Sussexes, I am—very fond of 'em!
A Dealer (trying to dispose of a litter of small black pigs). Seven good ole stiddy little pigs! I don't care 'oo buys 'em (as if he usually required the strictest testimonials to character). I must sell 'em. Pig-buyin' to-day, sir? You'd better 'ave that little lot, sir.
[Persuasively, to a passer-by, who however appears to think he had much better not.
By the Sheep-Pens
Intending Purchaser (to Seller). What d'ye carl them yoes now? Southdowns?
[He fixes his eyes on the cathedral spire, and awaits the next move.
Seller (after watching a rook out of sight, stirs up the sheep meditatively, and decides on candour). Well—bout aaff an' aaff.
Int. Purch. Old yoes—well, ye know, 'taint like young yoes, be it now?
Seller (when he has finished shredding tobacco in the palm of his hand). That's true enough.
Int. Purch. I dunno as I can do wi' any moor shep just now, if 'twas iver so.
Seller (listlessly). Cann't ye, now? Theer's bin a genl'man from Leicestershire 'ere, wawntin' me to run 'im off a dozen or so—fur his perrk, d'ye see?
Int. Purch. (with unaffected incredulity). Ah.
[A protracted silence, employed by each in careful inspection of his boots.
Seller (addressing space). They're a tidy lot o' yoes.
Int. Purch. (as if this was a new view of them, which would require consideration). Come off o' your own farm?
Seller. Druv 'em in myself this very marnin'.
Int. Purch. Ah. (A pause apparently spent in mental calculation.) What might ye be askin' for 'un now?
Seller. For them yoes?
Int. Purch. Ah.
Seller (falls into a brown study, from which he at length emerges to tap the nearest ewe on the forehead and expectorate). I wawnt five-an'-twenty shellin' a yead for them yoes.
Int. Purch. Five-an'-twenty?
Seller. Ah, that's what I wawnt.
[A longer silence than ever.
Int. Purch. I s'pose ye aint seen ole Jim 'Arrows 'bout 'ere this marnin', hev ye?
[After some further preliminaries of this kind the moment at length arrives at which a bargain can be struck without any suggestion of unbecoming haste on either side.
Anything to oblige.—Old Lady. "I wish you would make him go faster. I shall be late for the market." Carrier. "Well, you see, mum, he always falls on his head if he trots down-hill. He can't trot up-hill, for he's broken-winded, and if you hurry him on the level he mostly has a fit of blind staggers. But we'll try if you like, mum. Come up, hoss!"
