"Ay, there's five o' them. Weel-a-weel, Saunders, we maunna lose the value of the saydel at no rate—sae just clap in, 'item, one saydel' to ilk ane o' the five ye hae read aff the noo seriawtim—they'll no aw objeck—ane will surely stick—maybe mair."
I was a good deal amused with this, and while the others were inspecting some sets of harness, and the quality of several open boxes of soap, I could not resist drawing nearer, under the lee of the partition, to enjoy the fun of the thing. Presently Twig joined me.
The conscience of the younger of the two invisibles seemed to rebel somewhat at this national and characteristic method of balancing an account, and making gain of the loss of a saddle.
"Really, uncle, none of these parties got the saddle, I am positively certain of that."
"It's no my fawt if they didna—we canna lose the saydel, Saunders; by no mainer of means."
"Oh, but, sir," persisted the other, "Mr Wanderson, for instance, a person you always speak so highly of!"
"Haud yere tongue, sir, and do as I bid ye—it'll no be charged again yere conscience, and yere no the keeper o' mine."
I was amazingly tickled at this.—After a pause, "Hae ye charged the saydels yet, Saunders?"
"Yes, sir," said the clerk, doggedly; "yes, all charged, and I'm just closing the accounts."
"Close nane o' the accounts—the devil's in the lad wi' his hurry—close nane o' the accounts, sir—so noo charge twa three odd things till each o' the five, just, to smoor the saydel, ye ken—what are ye glowering at?—do ye no understaun yere mither tongue?—to mak the charge less noticeable, ye gawmarel."