“Na; there’s a difference between coddin’ an’ deceivin’. Same sort o’ difference as between war an’ murder. An’ they say that all’s fair in love—I ha’e ma doobts aboot love—an’ war. Mind ye, I’m no’ sayin’ onything against coddin’. We’re a’ in the same boat. Some cods wi’ advertisin’—see daily papers; some cods wi’ talk; some cods wi’ lookin’ solemn an’ smilin’ jist at the right times. But we’re a’ coddin’, cod, cod, coddin’! But we’ll no’ admit it! An’ naebody wud thank us if we did.”
The old woman was almost angry. “I’m sure I never codded a customer in ma life,” she cried.
Christina regarded her very kindly for a second or two ere she returned pleasantly: “I wudna say but what you’re an exception to the rule, Miss Tod. But ye’re a rare exception. Even ma uncle—an’ he’s the honestest man in the world—once codded me when I was assistin’ ma aunt at Kilmabeg, afore she got married. Wi’ his talk an’ his smiles he got me to buy things against ma better judgment—things I was sure wud never sell. If he had been dumb an’ I had been blind, I would never ha’e made the purchase. But I was young then. Of course he didna want to cod me; it was jist a habit he had got into wi’ bein’ in business. But there’s nae doobt,” she went on calmly, ignoring M. Tod’s obvious desire to get a word in, “there’s nae doobt that coddin’ is yin o’ the secrets o’ success. When ye consider that half the trade o’ the world consists in sellin’ things that folk dinna need an’ whiles dinna want——”
“Whisht, lassie! Ye speak as if naebody had a conscience!”
“I didna mean that,” was the mild reply. “It’s the only thing in this world that’s no’ easy codded—though some folk seem to be able to do the trick. For, of course, there’s a limit to coddin’ in business—fair coddin’, I mean. But ye’ve taken ma remarks ower seriously, Miss Tod.”
“I never heard sich remarks in a’ ma days.”
“I’m sorry I’ve annoyed ye.”
“Ye ha’ena annoyed me, dearie. But I’m vexed to think ye’ve got sich notions in yer young heid.” M. Tod sighed.
Christina sighed also, a little impatiently, and picked up the fancy ink-pot from the counter. “Hoo lang ha’e ye had this in the shop?” she enquired carelessly.
M. Tod shook her head. “Ten years, onyway. It wudna sell.”